


Dynamite Dust

by berryboys



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Drug Addiction, Exes, Exes to Enemies to Lovers, Hollywood, M/M, Slow Burn, coming back home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 72,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryboys/pseuds/berryboys
Summary: After his drug scandal, Hollywood's It Boy runs back home to hide from the spotlight and recover.It's been five years since Donghyuck and Mark last saw each other, and the memory of Mark's kisses and broken promises have shaped Donghyuck's life for the worse.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 378
Kudos: 611





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> good morning guys it's, surprise, 3am! my usual time to post!
> 
> This fic - well, it's going to be heavy. I will list the trigger warnings for each chapter, but the general gist is that there's going to be a lot of drug mentions, a lot of discussion over things Mark did under the influence, etc etc. It'll become pretty rated at some point too, so beware of that. If you read the tags (hollywood, fame, drug addiction, coming back home) you basically get what this fic is about, but I have a lot of plans beyond that, I just can't tag them because they would be spoilers. There won't be glorification of drugs, it's not going to be that kind of fic. In fact, it's pretty much the opposite.
> 
> Some details:
> 
> -Donghyuck and his friends live in Skopelos, an island that actually exists and that some of you might have seen before because it's one of the islands that were used to film Mamma mia. If you haven't watched it, I recommend googling it because it's a beautiful place and it will help with the imagery ;)
> 
> -This takes place in the 90s, so basically Mark is some sort of Leonardo DiCaprio in terms of fame. I don't know if it will be mentioned explicitly at some point, but you'll realize they don't use internet and their phones are pretty useless except for calling/texting. They also rely on tv, magazines and radio for the most part.
> 
> -edit (07/16) [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ghFRPyw1Xt9K1EFCZqFIa?si=CaGoGZbbSmScml83kfVn1w)  
> I'll post a playlist soon but meanwhile, I recommend listening to the weeknd's After Hours album, that's pretty much the vibe for the fic (especially once the second half of the fic comes) and what I've been listening to while thinking up the plot.
> 
> -There are other side pairings but let's keep them a secret until they appear ;)
> 
> -Slowburn lmao  
>    
> And lastly, I hope you have fun reading!
> 
> *warnings for the first chapter: mentions of drug use, discussions about death

Even in Skopelos, the scandal spreads like wildfire.

Unlike for the rest of the world, news reaches them with a few days of delay. A young girl that goes to the peninsula comes back with a bunch of magazines with Mark's face on them and flashy, dramatic headlines about the fall of Hollywood's It Boy. The magazines are passed from hand to hand, and Donghyuck catches glimpses of them in the tavern, in the market, everywhere and anywhere he goes. Most TV channels and the radio cover the gossip too, but over the years Donghyuck has gotten used to keeping any screen black and off, and he promptly pesters his friends every time they dare to tune in when Donghyuck is around.

Since Mark Lee left, it has always been that way. Jeno and Jaemin molded to it, to Donghyuck's inner, useless fights and his flawless evasion from reality. Donghyuck has spent the last four years avoiding any news related to Mark, pretending that he's part of his past, that he can move on without closure. He didn’t expect a path without thorns, because even though they grew up in Skopelos, a Greek island that isn't especially hooked on TV and celebrities, Mark is the exception to the rule.

Not every day a poor boy from a humble place flees all the way to the States and hits stardom, no apparent reason other than luck. It’s bad luck, Donghyuck thinks, that it had to be _his_ boy.

Mark stopped calling him by the second year. He loved calling them in the beginning, but only Jeno and Jaemin picked up, wasting hours on the phone when Mark was free to do so. On the contrary, as soon as Donghyuck heard Mark's voice, he hung up. Donghyuck's mother used to engage in conversations with him too, apologizing because Donghyuck was _too busy_ , because he _was sick_ , because he _was out with Jeno and Jaemin_. When Mark was a kid, he believed lies without a single pinch of doubt, but Mark had stopped being a kid somewhere in the middle of his eternal trip.

Mark gave up on him, and Donghyuck deserved it, he was the one to blame, but he still felt a tug of discomfort when Mark’s name roamed around his life.

Mark never mentioned his problems, however. Either Jaemin or Jeno would have resorted to Donghyuck if that was the case, because such a terrible secret is impossible to confine. Donghyuck supposes that Mark wasn’t and isn’t proud of it, and that during his brief moments of peace, he didn’t deem very civil to mention to his childhood friends that he was on the verge of overdosing every other day.

It's not a good look on Mark Lee, the innocent boy with an undying smile, who has hidden himself under layers of make-up and rehearsed interviews for years, who appears on every magazine every week; who moves masses of people and teens across the country just to take a peek at his pretty face on the red carpet.

The scandal is a cause and effect issue, a house of cards that collapses with the first breeze of air. The last thing Donghyuck sees of Mark is blurry pictures in which he’s being dragged around by his manager while they try to escape the press, his dark circles prominent and the ghost of happiness subdued.

And then, Mark disappears.

But Donghyuck knows why. It's irrelevant that they haven't spoken to each other in five years, that the sixteen-year-old boy that left Skopelos is an adult man shaped by his fame and money. Donghyuck’s theories are predictions that are bound to become true. He catches Jaemin rapidly texting on his phone when he thinks that Donghyuck isn't paying attention. He hears Jeno and Jaemin murmur words to each other, as though they don’t mean to be heard. The silence within the tavern is heavier those days, when Jaemin flicks his eyes towards Donghyuck, deep concern and scowls perched on his semblance while he serves their well-known clients.

There's only one place Mark would run away to, one place where he would feel safe, despite all his efforts to leave it and start what he thought was a better life. One place where life slows down in winter, where Mark doesn't have to speed to catch up; in Skopelos, time runs in circles, and just like this place, Mark is running to the start.

During winter, the tavern is pretty much empty.

All their customers are familiar faces, life-long neighbors and groups of young people that went to school with them. Donghyuck has always liked his parents’ tavern. He's been raised in this place as much as he was raised at their own home, since he was just a tiny boy running around the wood tables and pestering their family friends. In summer he always became a bit shier, looking at the tourists with starry eyes and only approaching them when they came to the tavern more than once.

There are many reasons Donghyuck doesn't sell the tavern once his parents are gone, doesn't even close it for a while to rest. His home is too big for him, too big for him to be alone, trapped in there, and the tavern gives him that spark of life that he can't find in the silence of his house.

Donghyuck can't manage the whole tavern on his own, but to his luck, Jaemin joins him as soon as he realizes Donghyuck's stubbornness is going to make him latch onto his parents' business. It's easier that way: Jaemin has always been by his side, and they make it work with little effort. They're not afraid of fighting each other, of saying the truth, and Jaemin can be overly insistent and affectionate when he feels that Donghyuck needs a hug, even if Donghyuck always denies it. But he needs Jaemin, and Jaemin stays.

The only downside of winter is that the tavern doesn't give Donghyuck much money, and sometimes, like tonight, the place is deserted even before closing time. Jaemin is cleaning the tables with a rag, yawning every two minutes, and Donghyuck is doing the same behind the counter with the plates.

Donghyuck doesn't look up when the ring of the door splashes across the tavern, but he hears Jaemin scoff, which is enough information to know who the newcomer is. Jeno doesn't greet them; he just sits by the counter with a smile, tapping on the wood to catch Donghyuck's total attention.

“Beer, please,” he sing-songs, taking off his coat and throwing it over the counter.

Donghyuck glances at Jeno, curious, and though his friend looks exhausted, the content glint in his eyes makes up for it. It always does. Even after so many years, Donghyuck often wonders how he hasn't exploded while dealing with Jaemin and Jeno's endless optimism. Donghyuck thinks it would do them some good to admit that life isn't permanently pretty and wonderful, but they know that, and because of that, they’re Donghyuck’s balance.

“Can I see your ID?” Donghyuck jokes, faking a frown and giving Jeno a judgmental once-over.

It takes Jeno a moment to realize that Donghyuck is playing with him, but Donghyuck can't help but laugh at the fleeting flash of confusion on his face.

“Of course,” Jeno accepts, and though the joke is evident by now, he shoves his hand into his pocket. Donghyuck looks at him in interest, but Jeno doesn't show him his ID: he flips off his middle finger at him, his grin widening at Donghyuck's innocence. “Here.”

Donghyuck grumpily retorts, “Fuck you.”

Jaemin throws the rag at them so that they stop bickering, and Jeno ducks just in time. The rag hits Donghyuck, but instead of feeling guilty, both Jaemin and Jeno burst into laughter. Donghyuck just grumbles and hides the rag under the sink, sliding sideways to pour Jeno the beer he asked for.

“Where have you been?” Jaemin shoots at Jeno, walking up to the bar too. He collapses on the counter, however, his arms crossed and his head dipping on his forearms. Perhaps Donghyuck should have sent him home by now, but Jaemin doesn’t tolerate gestures of pity. “We tried to find you last night but your father told us you were gone for the night.”

Jeno shrugs, but Donghyuck doesn't miss the tiny smile dancing on his lips. “I've been painting Wong's house.”

Painting is what earns Jeno most of his money. He's the only boy that has mastered the art of painting in town, and a lot of people in the island are too old to paint their house themselves. Besides, Donghyuck is aware that some women hire him just because he's handsome and nice to have around; it wouldn't be the first time a man does it, too, but Jeno is used to the attention. Word about how pretty he is just gives him more work, so he doesn't mind.

“At night?” Jaemin accuses him. Once Jeno glares at him, getting the hint, Jaemin's grin expands like venom. “Translation: I've been hooking up with their son.”

Jaemin has a point. Maybe it got too late and Jeno didn't return home, but they know better than that; their village is safe at night, and Jeno didn't have any reason to not go back home or, for that matter, tell his friends he couldn’t meet up with them because he was too tired.

Despite how suspicious it is, Jeno immediately protests, “You're nasty. We haven't done anything.”

“You deserve that beer then,” Donghyuck says, well aware that Jeno might be lying. He slams the drink in front of Jeno, and he startles, as though Jaemin's accusation pushed him deep into his own thoughts. “Does Yukhei even know you swing that way?”

In Donghyuck's opinion, Yukhei is too nice to assume anything about anyone, even when it’s obvious. Even if someone has told him, Yukhei might have forgotten, but the fact that he let Jeno spend the night with him hints otherwise.

“How could he not?” Jeno mumbles before grasping his beer. “You know what's like in here. You kiss someone and the next day everyone knows.”

To be fair, Jeno was the first one among them to come out. It wasn't a secret – at least in Donghyuck's case, his parents had always known – but there was a difference between talking about boys within their circle of friends and actually kissing one.

“Makes it hard for you to get around, huh?” Jaemin teases Jeno, prodding at his forearm, a little teasing smile on his lips.

His eyelids are half-closed, and Donghyuck softly smacks him on the head so that he doesn't fall asleep there. Jaemin's house is relatively far away from the tavern compared to Donghyuck's house, so he guesses Jaemin will sleep with him tonight.

Unbothered, Jeno rolls his eyes at the insinuation. “I'm not trying to get around,” he retorts. “But I feel like I've run out of boys in this town.”

Of course he has. In the last few years all of them have had their hopes on the tourists instead of the locals, because whether they like it or not, they already know every boy in the village. They aren't going to find love there, and still, it's too risky to get entangled with their neighbors in something that could result in a broken heart. Jeno is special, however, because his kindness prevents everyone from hating him even if Jeno crushes their hearts to pieces.

“You should go for Donghyuck next, then,” Jaemin says, laughing when Donghyuck responds with something that clearly sounds like _I'll kill you_. “He's the only one you haven't kissed yet.”

Jaemin’s tone alerts Donghyuck, and his stomach twists at the upcoming conversation. There's no need for Jaemin to mention that, and Donghyuck doesn't intend to appear paranoid, but his friends know that it's a sensitive topic. Jaemin has kissed Donghyuck before, but both of them were drunk and, most importantly, Mark wasn't in love with him yet. Mark is the reason no one else wants to kiss Donghyuck.

“I would, but you know-” Jeno answers and gives them a shrug, as though he hasn't caught the implications of Jaemin's words. “I appreciate my life.”

Donghyuck can tell where this conversation is heading to, and he feels like puking out his dinner.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” he warns Jeno, gaze travelling between them.

Jaemin catches his eyes, wary, but Donghyuck detects the budding rebellion in his semblance. He's aware that his voice carries a threatening edge, because Jeno presses his lips into a tense line, quiet. Donghyuck has a hunch Jaemin isn't going to be that easy to silence.

It's been five years, so the fact that Jeno wouldn't touch Donghyuck just because of Mark feels like a punch in his stomach. Donghyuck has always thought it was unfair. Everyone cared about Mark so much – didn't want to hurt his feelings, didn't want to date the boy he'd had a crush on for years – but no one considered that Donghyuck was free to choose.

It's frustrating that up to this day, Mark Lee is the barrier that holds other boys back from looking at Donghyuck like he's attractive. If it wasn't for the tourists, the summer boys that flirt with him and call him pretty, Donghyuck would have assumed he wasn't worth the attention, the hassle, the whole game of slipping into someone’s bed.

“Donghyuck,” Jaemin calls him, after a long silence that reveals more than any of them would like. “You know we have to talk about it. We need to know where you stand before he shows up and you're too overwhelmed to deal with it.”

This is the worst part. It's not that Jeno and Jaemin want to pressure him into speaking to Mark again: they just want to make sure when and how they should help him if the time comes. It would be nonsensical for Donghyuck to think that, if Mark sets foot on the island in winter or autumn, they won't cross paths. Their town is too small, the likelihood too high, and their fates too entangled. Donghyuck would have to leave the island himself for that, and the truth is that he has nowhere to go and no money to escape.

“Deal with what?” Donghyuck snaps. The tavern clenches around him for a second, a pulsing creature asphyxiating him with a single breath, and he looks away from Jeno and Jaemin, hiding the bubble of anxiety that bursts through his chest. “We never were anything. I rejected him, or did you forget about that part?”

Donghyuck is sure none of them could ever forget, but the reminder floats among them with its own mouth. They were only fifteen, and Donghyuck had known about Mark's feelings for a while – god, every kid in town knew about them – but that just terrified him further. They kissed, laughed, spent too much time together, and naturally Mark wanted more than that. Donghyuck did, too. But a boy that wanted to see the world wasn't a boy that could love Donghyuck for long, not when he had so much to take care of in Skopelos.

“You were young and prideful,” Jaemin murmurs, like he’s afraid his voice will scare Donghyuck away. “And you knew that Mark wasn't the type to stay in our town for the rest of his life.”

All the rancor he feels towards Mark blooms under his skin, sharp edges and thorns that tear him apart. Even if he never allowed himself to revel in Mark's attention, even if he always did his best to dismiss his sparkling eyes and his endeared laughter, Donghyuck still feels like Mark abandoned him. Sometimes Donghyuck wonders if that was the test Mark failed, if he’d needed Mark to stay and prove that Donghyuck was more than a childhood crush.

“So what has changed?” Donghyuck asks Jaemin. He pivots to face him, but Jeno’s gesture distracts him. He's staring at Donghyuck with pure fear, and Donghyuck knows that expression; his fear is born from worry, because Donghyuck is more sensible than this, and the last time he raised his voice was during his mom's funeral. “He's still not the type to stick to his roots. This will be a visit, and then he'll be gone and you'll try to salvage your friendship through your damn phones. I wasn't interested in that back then, and I'm not interested now either.”

It's a bit cruel, but Donghyuck isn't conscious of it until it's too late.

The only way for Jeno and Jaemin to contact Mark is through their house phones, or at least it's been that way for most part of their lives. Jaemin bought his first cell phone months ago, so it was easier for Mark to catch him at any time. Before that, and given that Jaemin and Jeno barely spend time at home, they had to schedule the calls – in many occasions, Mark didn't keep his promise, too busy to follow the schedule of some town boys.

Donghyuck never liked that. He doesn't have the heart or the energy to be like Jeno and Jaemin, waiting for a call that might never come, running through his house just to pick up the phone in time.

“Okay,” Jeno muses, too shocked to come up with a counterargument. “We're just asking you to not-”

Jaemin interrupts him by placing his hand on his shoulder. It's obvious they've discussed this before, because a mere shake of his head makes Jeno drop his attempt.

“Donghyuck, we don't know _who_ is coming back either.” Jaemin falls into seriousness, but his gaze is sweet on Donghyuck. Jaemin has always understood him, which is usually a relief, except right now it means that he knows, for a fact, that he has to compel Donghyuck out of his comfort zone. “But he's had a drug scandal, and yes, I'd rather believe it's just the press' bullshit, but Mark wouldn't come to Skopelos if it was.”

Donghyuck looks down at the bar, too embarrassed to make eye contact with Jaemin. It feels like a scolding, but Donghyuck should have had this talk with them earlier. Jeno and Jaemin must have reached this conclusion on their own too: if they thought Mark would never see himself sucked in by the bad side of the fame, it was either because they didn't know Mark at all or because that world had sculpted him for the worse.

“I don't know if Mark can even stomach seeing you, I wonder if you've stopped to imagine that,” Jaemin continues. Next to him, Jeno gives him a small nod, but he can't back him up with words. “I don't know how weak he'll be while he's recovering, so- If you two clash, don't take it out on him. Call one of us first, tell us what happened, and if Mark truly deserves the harsh truth, we'll give you green light.”

A bitter laugh ignites in his throat, and Donghyuck makes an effort to repress it.

“You're worried he still cares about me,” he points out, frustrated. Jaemin doesn't flinch, perhaps because that's exactly what he’s trying to transmit. “Isn't that the problem? Otherwise he wouldn't give a damn about what I have to say about him.”

Jaemin looks at him in confusion. “I don't see why he wouldn't care about you.”

Donghyuck wishes he could explain it without tasting acid on his tongue.

“This isn't his life anymore,” Donghyuck croaks out. He gestures to the tavern, but he means the whole island, the silence of the night and the waves crashing against the rocks; he means Jeno's fond smile and Jaemin's impetuosity, the lack of barriers among them, the feeling of being family without involving their blood. “ _You and I_ , we don't belong to his world.”

Despite the determination in his voice, his resolve trembles. He's expecting Jaemin to give him a harsh response, but Jaemin looks reluctant, and it takes Donghyuck a moment to comprehend that it's Jeno who's speaking.

“You're wrong,” Jeno says, jaw tensing when he closes his mouth again. “You might have pushed yourself away, but we're still friends. That's not how the world works, Donghyuck, you can't just set the rules and expect everyone to follow them for a chance to be in your life.”

It stings because he's right. Jeno and Jaemin always are when it comes to Donghyuck's feelings. It's an effect of spending their whole lives together: they never had to ask how Donghyuck felt about Mark. The answer is there, in Donghyuck's eyes, in his silences rather than in his words, in his desperation to pretend that Mark had never been there to begin with.

Donghyuck wishes they could trade shoes for once, because then maybe he would understand himself too.

“It's not your decision,” is all Donghyuck manages out.

“You made that very clear. That it wasn't our decision, and that not even Mark had a say in it either.” Jeno nods, firm, but his whole demeanor is tinted with disapproval. “Just don't try to twist reality, alright? Mark still wanted to keep in touch.”

It's ironical that they start with the beginning. That's the moment his friends think they were torn apart: when Mark left and Donghyuck stepped away from him altogether. But they drifted way earlier than that, and Donghyuck wonders if he always knew, if he always refused to acknowledge his feelings because even as a kid, he could feel Mark was made to fly.

The knot in his throat doesn't stop Donghyuck from admitting, “I couldn't.”

Jaemin doesn't say a word, but Jeno's gaze softens. He holds Donghyuck's hand over the table, the right amount of pressure so that Donghyuck doesn't feel overwhelmed and pulls away. The warmth of Jeno’s hand anchors him there, and Donghyuck clings without wanting to.

“I know,” Jeno reminds him. “Donghyuck, we've spent five years avoiding his face on TV and magazines _and_ his films at the movies even though we have to take a damn a speedboat to go to the peninsula every time. We know you can’t do this, but you have no choice now.”

Donghyuck flickers his eyes from Jaemin to Jeno, and back. They don't have a cinema in their island, which is a relief for Donghyuck, but it also means that proper, modern entertainment implies a long trip. Donghyuck started giving excuses two years ago, when Mark's fame grew so big that it was impossible for him not to be the protagonist of every movie he starred in. Those huge posters with his face on it gave Donghyuck whiplash, and he never stared for too long, but it was still long enough to realize how much Mark had changed. He’d gone from a cute kid to a handsome man, and yet he still was the same person in Donghyuck’s eyes.

“I'm sorry about that,” Donghyuck apologizes, and this time it's not an excuse, it's not a dry reply. His intention isn't being a bother to his friends.

“We actually escaped a few times to watch his movies,” Jaemin confesses in an attempt to dismiss his apology. Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and Jaemin wholeheartedly laughs at his reaction. “They're pretty good.”

“I figured they would be,” Donghyuck replies, but that’s his call to cut the conversation. He crouches behind the bar to check that every item is in the right place for tomorrow, and then opens the cash register to collect today’s money. “We should head home. I’m not paying you tomorrow if you don’t wake up on time.”

Jaemin heavies a sigh, but he doesn’t protest. Even though Donghyuck isn’t content tonight, that puts the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Tomorrow will be a new day, but it will be exactly the same. They’ll sleep together to ease the cold, and Donghyuck will have to drag Jaemin out of bed while they bicker. Jaemin will make breakfast for the both of them, will remind him how little Donghyuck eats when Jaemin doesn’t spend the night, and then they will run down the hill to the tavern, stopping only to check if the sea is wild today, to breathe the humid air of the morning.

Jaemin will probably his hold his hand too, a little harder every morning to make sure that Donghyuck doesn’t feel alone, a bit harder every night until Mark comes back.

In such a small town, Mark's return is impossible to hide.

They don't receive many visitors during winter, and there is only a couple of boats that come and go to the peninsula, so most residents schedule their trips with a lot of precision if they intend to leave. Donghyuck and his friends are lucky, since Jaemin's parents own one of the few available speedboats, so if they're itching to make a short trip, they only have to beg to Jaemin's parents and make big promises.

The lack of opportunities to travel marks the days on Donghyuck's calendar. There's a boat arriving on the last day of the month, and since Mark's scandal and his disappearance happened more than one month ago, Donghyuck knows it's either that day or never.

Donghyuck finds himself gazing at the sea many times, like a thread that pulls him to the dark, deep silence and makes him wish he could break it. He closes the tavern just in case, Jaemin's protests rattling in his ears, because both of them are aware that the tavern is the first place Mark will pay a visit if he wants to find Donghyuck. Donghyuck ends up shutting up Jaemin with a single glare, but he doesn't manage to get rid of him completely.

Ironically, it's not a winter day. The sun shines bright in the sky, just a few clear clouds around, and they can afford taking their coats off. Jaemin and Donghyuck sit at the seaport, right on the tip of a flat headland that is surrounded by water, like a thin arm reaching for the sea. They watch fishermen leave in the morning and they chat them up for a bit, since everyone knows everyone, but most of the morning passes by without signal of a boat.

“I don't know why we're here, anyway,” Jaemin whispers, eyes closed as he lies on his back. He looks beautiful like this, with the sun caressing his features, but Donghyuck would never tell him – Jaemin's ego is already big enough. “Unless you changed your mind and now want to welcome Mark with open arms.”

Donghyuck scoffs at that, more unsettled than he lets on. “I just want to make sure it's today. Then I'll run away and let the rest of you suck up to him.”

Jaemin lazily turns his head, opening only one eye to look at him. “Let's not talk about sucking.”

“I hate you.”

His retort does nothing but paint a smile on Jaemin's face. Donghyuck stares away from him, cheeks flaming, but he decides to blame it on the rare sunlight. It unnerves him that Jaemin merely ignored the insinuation that Mark would fare better with them just because he’s famous now, but Donghyuck admits his assumption is unwarranted. Neither Jaemin nor Jeno will ever feel inferior to Mark, and they’ll never treat him differently for it.

“I think this is going to be funnier than I expected it to be,” Jaemin mumbles then, almost to himself. Donghyuck has no idea what he's talking about, because there isn't a single pinch of fun in this ordeal. “I'm just praying that Mark is more mature than you, or this town will burn down in a matter of days.”

Donghyuck unconsciously lifts his chin, as if that's a challenge against his self-control. He has to repress the urge of pointing out that unlike Mark, Donghyuck has made better decisions to keep himself alive, but he doesn't want to go that far.

No matter how much he spins the possibilities in his head, Donghyuck doesn't understand how the boy that used to gush about movies in his bedroom, sparkling eyes and unstoppable words, the boy that tugged Donghyuck all the way to his house after school to talk about his ideas, would resort to drugs. He wonders if someone tricked him. If he was just sad. If they hurt him in other ways, too. It doesn't feel fair for Donghyuck to judge him out loud, even if deep inside he can't help it.

He's afraid of confronting Mark and realizing that the spark, that spark he had when he was a kid, is gone.

“I should replace you with Jeno,” Donghyuck replies at last, pretending Jaemin's words didn't stir something dark and ugly inside him. “He's not as mean as you.”

Jaemin hums in agreement, because that's undeniable. Both Mark and Jeno have always carried that air of kindness that pushed people to take advantage of them. Jaemin spent half of their school years standing up for Jeno, while Donghyuck straight up got into physical fights as soon as any kid directed a bad word to him. It had been rough at times, especially since he was the only one who openly talked about his sexuality, but as those kids grew up, the mocking stopped and some of them had to apologize.

“Jeno is too nice, and that's not a good thing either,” Jaemin points out. “If Mark comes back a mess, I'll need Jeno to drop the neutrality. People here love Mark now just because they don't believe the rumors.”

Jaemin is right. It's the same predicament they have: no one would have expected Mark to do such things. He's their pride and secondhand success, and old people will turn their backs on him if Mark is what the tabloids say he is.

With a knot in his throat, Donghyuck manages, “You're not going to fix his problems, you know?”

Jaemin doesn't say a word at first, considering Dongyuck's wake-up call. They're not experts. They've been offered drugs in the peninsula a few times, in clubs and even at the beach, but it's not part of their lives. Drugs don't reach their island, and they're grateful for that.

“You've been thinking about it too, haven't you?” Jaemin softly asks him. He sits up, scrutinizing Donghyuck's side profile for an answer, and Donghyuck lowers his head. It's heartbreaking that Jaemin thought Donghyuck could ignore this, even if he's trying to. “I'm just saying, Donghyuck, I'd have never let that shit happen.” And then, weakly, he repeats, “Never.”

Compared to the warmth of today's sunlight, Donghyuck's heart thrums with fire.

“I know,” he answers, squeezing Jaemin's thigh. “Me neither.”

They don't speak again for the next hour, but Jaemin plays with his fingers and pretends that it's a normal day, that they're not waiting for disaster to walk on his two legs and back into his lives.

The boat doesn't arrive that morning, however. It arrives at night, lights crossing the endless sea and the darkness that swallows Skopelos. Donghyuck is alone when it happens, watching from the tavern's door after he came in to check that everything was in order for tomorrow. He's glad Jaemin didn't accompany him, because even from the hill where the tavern sits at, Donghyucks feels his legs tremble and his blood pulse with desperation.

He stays there until the boat anchors, even though all Donghyuck sees is lights and the reflected slant of waves around it. But he can hear the murmur of voices in the silence of the night, noise traveling up from the port, and his peace shatters bit by bit, little cracks that disturb a routine that is supposed to be unmovable.

Donghyuck closes the tavern's door with a sigh, and then looks at the port one last time. He's never left Skopelos long enough to know what coming back feels like, to know if it's possible to miss it. But even if Mark ran and ran for a thousand years around the whole world, Donghyuck is sure that this place would still feel like home for him.

Donghyuck wakes up to chaos.

That's the strange rift that threatens Donghyuck's normalcy: the town is never awake when Donghyuck rises from bed, but today is different. He rolls over his bed, alone, and even through his closed window, Donghyuck hears people animatedly chatting, passing by and even screaming to greet each other. It's mostly kids, Donghyuck realizes, high-pitched voices and an enthusiasm that reminds him that it's Saturday and that, in such a calm place, only a Hollywood star would be able to cause such ruckus.

His heart races as he peels himself from bed, the fear of running into Mark rearing its ugly head. His most paranoid side slips thoughts of Mark showing up at his doorstep, but that isn't realistic – at least during the first few days, his family and other friends will corner and hog him, since he hasn't had time for anyone in five years. He can't be sure Mark is healthy enough for visits, for friends, and he might have come to Skopelos with company. Donghyuck ignores the nuances of an actor's world, but he expects Mark to be under some kind of control even when he's at home with his family.

When Donghyuck checks the time, he almost has a heart attack. Considering how late it is, Jaemin must have caught him asleep and decided to indulge him, even though Donghyuck would have never asked for that granted. Donghyuck meets him up at the tavern, which Jaemin has opened like it's a normal day, and Donghyuck grunts a dry good morning at him. Jaemin is arranging clean plates and mugs when Donghyuck enters, but even from behind the bar, Donghyuck discerns the anxious look Jaemin dedicates him.

There's no point in tiptoeing around the topic, around the rocky blanket that seems to be weighing them down, so Donghyuck discards his coat over one of the chairs and walks up to Jaemin.

“Is he here?” is the first question that leaves Donghyuck's mouth. He has a thousand of them, but they're safe and harmless inside his mind, and they'd become dangerous in Jaemin's hands. Jaemin tenses up, but Donghyuck doesn't acknowledge that; it's normal for Jaemin to be wary now that the moment of truth has launched. Donghyuck explains, “People are talking about him.”

It was impossible to dodge the gossip as Donghyuck strolled down to the tavern. There were girls whispering about how handsome Mark was, little kids shamelessly planning to approach him with their friends, and older neighbours throwing interested looks at Donghyuck when he passed by. Donghyuck predicted he'd receive some attention, that some people would look out for his reaction, and he was ready to brush it off.

“I suppose so. Haven’t seen him yet,” Jaemin confesses, his pupils roaming over Donghyuck's blank expression. He stops working for a few seconds, hesitant, and then murmurs, “You okay?”

It's a knee-jerk reaction for Donghyuck to nod and lie.

“Perfect.” He leans his abdomen against the bar, slanting away from Jaemin, since he doesn't want to turn his head and assimilate Jaemin's worry. “You can go with him, you know? Better now than when we have customers.”

Even though it sounds like a generous offer, Donghyuck is looking after himself too. He's certain that, given how late it was when the boat docked last night, Mark isn't awake yet. So he won't pry into the tavern this morning, if he ever does. Donghyuck isn't afraid to be alone, so casting Jaemin off now is a safe decision; his fear will develop throughout the day.

“I'll stay,” Jaemin retorts. He sets a hand on Donghyuck's lower back in an attempt to draw his attention, to no avail. Donghyuck keeps his gaze fixed on the door, his stomach twisting and screaming, ill butterflies that poison every inch of his body. “Jeno planned to speak to Mrs. Lee later, so I'll leave once he calls me.”

Donghyuck gives him a curt nod, but their conversation dims out after that. He's fine with Jaemin skipping a few hours of work to go with Jeno, as long as they keep Mark away from here. His friends would never provoke that situation themselves, even if it's inevitable, and Donghyuck can manage the tavern himself for one day.

Against his own will, Donghyuck feels awful once Jaemin leaves.

It happens almost at night, after Jaemin has spent one hour stuck to his phone and Donghyuck’s patience has run out. They only have a couple of customers drinking beer together, so beyond making small talk, Donghyuck doesn’t have to worry.

The sun is setting, and Donghyuck wants to be alone, but Jaemin's absence makes him feel empty. The two customers, two men that Donghyuck has known for fifteen years, leave right before the closing time, and Donghyuck is so emotionally tired that he needs a few minutes to regain his energy.

Donghyuck considers skipping his duties tonight, but he needs a distraction, and his best solution is to clean the tavern. He sets the closed sign on the door but doesn't lock it, in case Jaemin or Jeno show up to help him at the last minute. Outside the tavern, life dwindles down so fast that Donghyuck can't help but assume that people are gathering elsewhere. He repeatedly glances at the old telephone behind the bar, as though his friends would ever call him instead of turning up in person. He can’t pinpoint what disturbs him, if the silence, the eternally quiet telephone, or his own thoughts.

It's instinct, his self-protection streak warning him that he shouldn't be there for long. When the town goes to sleep, secrets arise amidst calmness; there are no eyes around to see or ears to listen, and Donghyuck doesn't have any reason to hide behind the counter.

But it's night, and Donghyuck's sight can't trespass the crystal door or the windows. He distinguishes the shining spot of the lighthouse and a few lights from some houses, but the moon is hidden tonight and the streets are pitch-dark. That's the reason Donghyuck doesn't distinguish the two figures crossing the street towards his tavern until it’s too late, not until the bell up the door is tingling, announcing their entrance, and Donghyuck startles with a weak noise.

The bell clatters against his ears, interlacing with the beating of his own heart, and Donghyuck regrets and _regrets_. He should have locked the door. He should have gone home, where he could hide within four walls. He should have begged Jaemin to stay.

It's not Mark who breaks into the place, but Donghyuck knows this boy too. He's spotted his face in the last news about Mark, and if his memory doesn't betray him, he appeared in Mark's life once he’d already shot up to stardom.

Mark's manager, Renjun, is a short, thin boy that can't be much older than them. In fact, he looks younger than them, but the determination in his eyes and his demeanor indicate the opposite. Behind him, Mark looks like a speck of dust on the wall, dry and withered. Where Renjun's shoulders are straight and disdainful, Mark's shoulders are hunched and tired. A cap hides the look in his eyes, but Donghyuck makes out his dark circles, how skinny he has gotten – even skinnier than the last time he saw him on a magazine. The coat covering him doesn't hide the fragility with which he slides behind Renjun, like he's the only shield he has against Donghyuck. Maybe he is, and maybe Mark needs him for that same reason.

Donghyuck expected their reencounter to be difficult, but he isn't ready to face a Mark he could crush. It's unfair. It's tricky, conditioning, and it swirls in Donghyuck's head like a beast.

“It's closed,” Donghyuck growls at them, carefully dragging his words to not shout.

Neither of them heeds his warning, strolling around the tavern like they're evaluating the territory. Donghyuck glances at Mark, but Mark doesn't flinch at his attention, and even lifts his chin a bit to take a good look at the walls. They haven't changed much since Mark left, but there are more family pictures and some paintings that Jeno crafted for him.

“I know,” Renjun tells him, momentarily glancing at him, no trace of shame. His gaze drinks from Donghyuck’s face slowly, and then moves down, to his neck, his shoulders, his waist. Renjun doesn’t seem to think it’s out of place. “You're Donghyuck, right?”

Renjun is quite pretty, Donghyuck notices as he comes closer, dark eyes and a delicate face that doesn't truly match his attitude; he gives Donghyuck a polite smile, a gesture that screams habit and protocol, and Donghyuck immediately wants to kick him out. He wonders if having a pretty manager is an advantage for Mark, or if he's the manager for other reasons - he's too young to manage anyone, that's for sure.

“Get out,” Donghyuck bites out. His patience ticks in his veins like a clock: he hates watching them invade his space without permission, and he doesn't know how to stop it. “Mark, get out and take your friend with you.”

But Donghyuck doesn't need to ask to know that Mark doesn't have any control over Renjun. Renjun is the first one to sit by the bar and observe the collection of bottles that rest behind Donghyuck's head, a judging glint in his eyes. They must be used to the luxury and absurdity of their parties, so a town's tavern won’t leave an incredible impression on Renjun, but Donghyuck takes pride on what his family built. Renjun's assessment doesn't settle well with him.

Mark takes his time before touching anything, however. He absorbs his surroundings step by step, always avoiding Donghyuck's burning gaze; it must be odd for him to be in a place that forms part of his past, but that has changed without him.

That might be why he doesn't want to look at Donghyuck either, and Donghyuck wishes he would. While Donghyuck saw him in pictures and videos, Donghyuck remains in Mark's head as the sixteen-year-old memory of a boy. Mark missed the few inches Donghyuck grew in the last years, the sharpness of his jaw and the fearless slant of his mouth.

“We won't bother you for long, don't worry,” Renjun assures him, though he doesn't look very worried with the fact that Donghyuck doesn't want them here, that they're illegally breaking into his property.

When Mark sits next to Renjun, Donghyuck notices he's been holding his own breath in. He steps back just to feel that Mark isn't close, and Mark spots that purposeful move, finally daring to look at him. The eyes under the cap are almost unrecognizable for Donghyuck, but Mark is still there, somehow, and his legs shake at that realization.

Even though Mark truly stares at him for the first time, his expression is unreadable. The youth in his face is buried under a veil of exhaustion and stress, and Donghyuck can’t recognize him in those familiar features. Perhaps Mark can tell that Donghyuck has grown up too, that he's a man, or perhaps he's so high that he can't tell reality and fantasy apart. Perhaps he looks at Donghyuck and sees only a smeared version of someone he used to know. That's how Donghyuck feels. Smeared, erased, a stain on Mark’s page. The breach between Mark and him is a whole abysm now, and it catches Donghyuck off guard.

“I wanted to come alone,” Mark whispers, a tiny excuse to justify that he can't order Renjun around.

Renjun props his chin on his palm, bored, and points out, “He can't be left alone.”

Donghyuck's heart clenches at that revelation. Mark needs to have company because they fear he'll run off and break his recovery plan; Donghyuck doesn’t need the exact words to figure that out. Mark is on watch.

“It doesn't matter,” Donghyuck hurls at them, fire on his tongue. “I didn't want you here anyway.”

Donghyuck's cruelty doesn't faze Mark, and that's the worst scenario Donghyuck could have confronted. It's either because Mark doesn't care or because he can't feel anything anymore, and both options terrify Donghyuck.

Renjun whistles, impressed. “I bet you haven't heard that one in a long time, Mark.”

Mark pointedly ignores him, but Donghyuck doesn't miss out how his mood shifts. Renjun must be right: fame and money have given Mark the privilege of making his own rules.

“But I'm here,” Mark replies, a challenging edge in his tone. It's a relief that he has the guts to turn down Donghyuck's words, but Mark was never this way. Someone, maybe a lot of people, hardened his character over the years, and Donghyuck frowns at the boy in front of him with a bad hunch. Mark plainly says, “You didn't want me to leave either.”

The reminder feels like a slap on Donghyuck's face, so he doesn't measure his next words.

“That just proves you never listen, and you always do whatever you want to do.”

“Not anymore,” Mark says. He drums his fingers on the counter, tearing his gaze away from Donghyuck. If it's because he needs a tweak of peace or because he's giving Donghyuck a moment to relax, he doesn't know. “I promise you I wouldn't be here if that was the case.”

Mark is aware of how much Donghyuck loves their hometown, and he's biting on it for blood. Deep within, Donghyuck feels scared, but his own anger – the anger of having Mark burst into his life again without permission, the anger of letting Mark insult the people and the place that made him who he is – drowns any other emotion.

“You should have stayed where you belong, then.”

Donghyuck steps forward without thinking twice, and though Mark redirects his stare to him, he looks just as indifferent. Renjun stares up at him too, a slanted smile blossoming, and his hand lands on Mark's thigh. Donghyuck doesn't care if it's just to soothe him, because it irks him that Renjun can read Mark's thoughts better than Donghyuck.

Mark has become an opaque wall for Donghyuck.

“I wish I could have,” Mark admits, much to Donghyuck's shock. They exchange a long look, but Mark doesn't revel in the pain that Donghyuck's expression shows. “But you know what's funny? You don't belong here either. This place is strangling you.”

Donghyuck doesn't wait for Mark to explain himself. He's perfectly conscious that his own home, the tavern, and the island are closing around him to choke him. But unlike Mark, Donghyuck has nowhere to go; his life starts and dies here.

His first impulse is to touch Mark, to shove him away from the bar. Donghyuck isn't thinking about how Mark is going to react, but for the first time tonight, Mark's semblance shifts out of neutrality. He recoils from Donghyuck's touch, and though he doesn't respond, Donghyuck knows it's the contact that scares him, not the violence.

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck spits at him, unrelenting, unable to process Mark's feelings.

“Language,” Renjun warns him, and when Donghyuck glances at him, he's puzzled to discover that Renjun is laughing at them. He's moved closer to Mark, however, as though he intends to protect him with his own body. Still, he's tremendously amused at their fight. “Don't be a bad influence on my star.”

“Fuck your star.”

Donghyuck might not have room to feel embarrassed, but their petty argument must sound absurd to Renjun. Renjun has no idea what they're talking about; only he and Mark could ever understand how deep this fight runs, how many lies and promises were broken, and how much truth rests on Mark's accusation.

Mark is the only one who understands how lonely Donghyuck feels, and that venom bleeds into Donghyuck's veins until his whole body is intoxicated. It's ironical that the boy that understands him is the same one that would abandon him a thousand times if he had the chance, the one that doesn’t want to stay.

“We should go,” Mark says, wrapping a hand around Renjun's wrist. He gives him a sharp jerk, which forces Renjun to obey him, and Donghyuck draws his hands away like the proximity to them will burn him. Softer, Mark croaks out, “Fast.”

Donghyuck doesn't bother to hide his curiosity. The fingers around Renjun's wrist are bony, and when Renjun catches Donghyuck looking, he folds his own hand over Mark's to protect him. From what, Donghyuck doesn't know. Maybe from judgment.

None of them say goodbye, so Donghyuck lets them stroll to the exit without a word. Renjun steps out first, the light coming from the tavern stamping his shadow against the concrete, but Mark hesitates. He twists the door handle and then gazes back at Donghyuck, looking so small and weak that Donghyuck wishes he could pity him.

“I'm so sorry about your mom, Donghyuck,” Mark whispers, and this time, there's sincerity in his words. Not rancor, or tension, or fear. Just sincerity, that drags into his next reminder like a punch, “You should have told me.”

That's the last thing Donghyuck wants to hear from Mark. He wonders for how long Mark has known about his mom's death, if Mark asked his mother last night and found out or if he's known for a while. Donghyuck never intended to tell him, because he never intended to see Mark again, but the universe has other plans for them.

Blinking down, Donghyuck grumbles, “It was too insignificant to bother someone like you.”

A thick silence hovers over them, and Donghyuck knows that he has fucked up, that he should never use his mom's death against Mark, but that's how he truly feels. It would have been worse if he had contacted Mark and Mark hadn't come. If one of his gigs had been more important than Donghyuck's mom.

“How could you even think that?” Mark asks him, faltering. He scowls at Donghyuck as though he's not sure if he's dreaming this or not, and part of Donghyuck wants him to wake up tomorrow and think all this was a hallucination due to the drugs. “Don't say anything like that ever again. I deserved saying goodbye too.”

Donghyuck's whole world collapses, but he upholds himself until Mark closes the door. Only when Mark and Renjun's voices disappear, when the noise of their steps dies out, does Donghyuck slip to the floor without any strength left in him. He doesn't know for how long he stays there, trembling from head to toe, sweating, wishing he could close his eyes and erase Mark from his memory.

Wishing he could look at Mark, at the fragility of his body, his pain, and at the ire that wasn't there five years ago, and not feel a thing.

Even though it's not very ethical, Donghyuck decides to sleep in next morning.

The tavern doesn't feel like a safe place anymore, and nausea rises in his throat every time he remembers Mark's words; every time he remembers his pain, his honesty, and the subtle way Renjun protected him from Donghyuck.

Donghyuck manages to leave his bedroom once the noises coming from the first floor startle him. He's not worried, since Jeno and Jaemin enter his house with total freedom, and Donghyuck likes it that way – it gives him the impression of not being alone. It should be Jaemin, but when Donghyuck skids down the stairs and peers into the kitchen, he recognizes Jeno's figure without trouble.

The smell of toasts and eggs dissuades him from running back to his bed, though he's certain Jeno would bring him his breakfast either way. He stays by the door, doubtful, grasping the edge to look for a physical support that isn’t enough.

“Where is Jaemin?” Donghyuck asks, rubbing at his own eyes.

It’s obvious Jeno didn’t notice his presence, since he jumps back and hits his own hand with the pan, a hiss slipping past his lips. Donghyuck observes him with slight amusement, but it’s not good news that Jeno doesn’t look much better than Donghyuck himself. His messy hair and his slow reaction are proof he didn’t sleep well tonight either, and Donghyuck can’t help but sympathize with him.

Donghyuck had nightmares about Mark all night too.

“At the tavern,” Jeno answers, turning on his heels. His gaze stops on Donghyuck for a moment, an unfathomable façade, and then he gestures to the kitchen table. “He left you a note.”

Donghyuck grunts that Jeno could explain it himself, but he heads for the table before Jeno can shut him off. _I’ll take care of it today_ , the note says, and Jaemin’s name underneath is bigger than the whole sentence. Jaemin must have arrived this morning just to discover Donghyuck in bed, a mess, and then called Jeno so that there was a friend to look after him once he was awake.

Donghyuck has the urge to protest, to claim that he doesn’t need all this supervision, but Jeno and Jaemin are his family. They won’t listen to his complaints. Besides, as Jeno slides the plate in front of him with warm food and a smell that could revive a whole cemetery, Donghyuck’s mouth demands food, not an argument.

Jeno sits across him, focused on his own food, and Donghyuck lowers his guard. The biggest difference between Jeno and Jaemin is that while Jaemin is boisterous, Jeno is quiet; while Jaemin is pliant, Jeno is factual. With Jeno, it’s all about the truth. He doesn’t smile if he doesn’t truly want to, he doesn’t hold lies for strangers or to escape an uncomfortable situation, and today, he doesn’t bother to pretend that Donghyuck’s feelings are safely tucked inside him.

He blasts a powerful look across the table and observes, “I guess the reencounter didn't go that well.”

Memories from last night spin inside Donghyuck’s head, and he clutches his fork until his knuckles go numb. Jeno isn’t asking, because it’s not necessary. It would have to be the end of the world for Mark and Donghyuck to forget their past and start from zero.

But that’s not what eats Donghyuck from within. That’s not the reason the blankets of his bed were as heavy as rocks today, or why the mere thought of running into Mark again paralyzes him.

“He's sick,” Donghyuck mutters, so low that his voice trembles.

Jeno stares at him, his unreadable expression yielding before Donghyuck’s sincerity.

“Yeah, he is,” he agrees.

None of them predicted that would be the version of Mark they’d have to face. Jaemin, Jeno and Donghyuck have never experienced a drug addiction with so much proximity, and Donghyuck expected many things from Mark, but not what he had seen last night: a Mark that couldn’t sustain himself.

Even when he was a kid, Mark had never depended on anyone or anything. Donghyuck had learned the hard way that it was impossible to control his wishes, that Mark didn’t heed outer influences.

That has changed.

Upon his silence, Jeno continues, “They brought a whole team with him. Two managers, a therapist and a specialized doctor. They're staying at the inn because Mark's mom didn't want strangers in their home, but one of the managers refused to leave.”

Donghyuck flicks his eyes up, curious.

“Renjun.”

“How do you know that?” Jeno frowns at him, but he quickly puts all the pieces together and nods to himself. “Yes, it was Renjun. I think Mark considers him a friend, and his mom is afraid of destabilizing Mark's state so she didn't argue about that.”

Donghyuck wants to find consolation in Mark’s determination to recover, but it’s too soon for him to accept the truth. The town didn’t believe the rumors, and now that all the signs are laid out in front of him, Donghyuck realizes he never allowed himself to believe them either. He still wishes Mark would tell him that this is a cover for something else; maybe for his own sexuality, maybe to hide that he feels a bit too much affection for one of his managers. Any option would be better than this.

“I'm sorry, I just-” Donghyuck drowns his face against his palms, trying to bite down the anger twirling inside him. Frustration tints every one of his thoughts, and he wants to cry and scream, but it would be useless. When he insulted Mark last night, he didn't even seem to care. “I don't know how to-”

Before Donghyuck's words become a confession, Jeno walks around the table to hug him. He doesn't need to hear that Donghyuck doesn't have the strength to do this – both Jaemin and Jeno know that – so Donghyuck lets himself sink in Jeno's embrace, tears prickling at his eyes. Jeno stays silent for a few minutes, just squeezes Donghyuck until he can breathe again. Donghyuck follows the rhythm of Jeno's breathing and peels away his own anxiety, his fingers digging into Jeno's back.

“Don't apologize,” Jeno mutters against his hair. “He looks so different, so sad. I could tell he was happy to see us but- he didn't have the energy for it.”

It's scary that Jeno nails it on the first try. That was the Mark that Donghyuck met too: he must have had a purpose towards Donghyuck, but he couldn't carry it out, not even with Renjun as an emotional clutch.

“Did he tell you he'd come see me?” Donghyuck asks, even though he's not sure the answer will soothe him.

“No,” Jeno admits. He strokes down Donghyuck's hair, prudent touches to keep him in place, and Donghyuck detaches a bit to look into his eyes. “What happened?”

It's just a theory, but Donghyuck can't imagine Mark would have any other motivation.

“I think he wanted to check if it was true my mom had passed away.” Donghyuck closes his eyes, but he vividly remembers the disappointment and the pain in Mark's gaze. “He's mad at me for not telling him.”

Donghyuck never took the initiative to understand how Mark could feel. Somehow, Donghyuck's mom was his mom too. Their families, like the rest of the town, raised their kids together, and it wasn't easy to accept someone's death when he wasn't there to witness it with his own eyes. The fact that the tavern was empty, only Donghyuck in it, was a blow of reality.

But Donghyuck feels like he did Mark a favor. Considering he couldn't spare them a visit in five whole years, he doubts Mark's management team would have let him go to attend the funeral of a friend, a friend that didn't even talk to him anymore.

“Well, now he knows,” is Jeno's response, much to Donghyuck's surprise. “If he thinks your tavern is too empty, he could lend a hand.”

Donghyuck flinches away from Jeno, a scowl deepening between his eyebrows until his forehead hurts. Jeno lazily smiles at him, ignoring his reaction; he's ruffling his feathers on purpose, but that doesn't mean Donghyuck won't fall for the trick anyway.

“Don't you dare propose that,” Donghyuck threatens, swaying his index finger before Jeno's face. “I'm serious, I'll make you cover my hours and I'll go paint houses instead.”

Jeno's expression scrunches as he bursts into laughter, and Donghyuck reaches to hit him, indignant at his nonchalance. His friend merely kicks his chair, making him skid over the floor with a thundering noise, and Donghyuck grunts at him.

“You can't even hold a brush,” Jeno reminds him, and he's not entirely wrong. He's accompanied Jeno a few times, mostly when his family needed money and therefore he needed to work faster, but Donghyuck is of little help when it comes to painting. “But I mean it, Donghyuck. If Mark isn't afraid of confronting you, and he clearly isn't, the tavern won't be a forbidden place for him.”

Stubborn, Donghyuck retorts, “I can ban him the entrance.”

It's natural for Jeno to distinguish a complaint from an actual threat, so he returns to his chair, deliberately dismissing Donghyuck's words.

“Yes, great idea, ban the Hollywood It boy from your business,” Jeno challenges him, a surge of amusement in his eyes. “Your reputation will be fantastic.”

Donghyuck represses a groan, but Jeno is right. Mark's house is terribly close to the tavern, and even if there's another tavern in the island, Mark isn't going to cross the whole piece of land just to avoid him. Especially when he doesn't seem to think that distancing himself from Donghyuck is necessary. Mark might have matured, but with his social status and position, it's evident he's used to doing whatever he wants, going wherever he wants, and dictating how others behave around him.

He's not blind to reality, however. Mark wasn't surprised at Donghyuck's attitude, because Donghyuck has never complied just to fit in, to delude himself into thinking Mark would be permanent in his life – and Mark knows that. If that's a war Mark wants to fight again, now that they're not fifteen-year-olds full of dreams and fears, he'll fight alone.

Donghyuck should have known that in war, Mark wouldn't go down without a single round.

He shows up at the tavern when the afternoon falls, every day, until it becomes a routine. His presence brings inevitable consequences: the first two weeks the tavern is full of people and a sort of ruckus that reminds Donghyuck of summer. It’s noisy, messy and nerve-wracking for Donghyuck’s winter peace. Since everyone knows everyone, their neighbors aren't shy around Mark, and Mark looks comfortable with the attention. It earns him an amount of money that Donghyuck wouldn’t have dreamed of during this season.

Even though Donghyuck doesn't address Mark during the entirety of those two weeks, he has plenty of time to observe him with hawk eyes. It's then that he catches glimpses of the old Mark, a layer that is buried under a thousand of other charades.

Most of the time Mark is a world star playing to be a normal boy, but Donghyuck hears the way people talk to him – with respect, with awe – and reckons that it's impossible to abandon a role when everyone else is pushing him into it. From behind the counter, Donghyuck watches Mark become a hundred different shades of himself. He's coy over compliments, but the confidence in his posture hints that he knows that he deserves them. He makes a show of ignoring Donghyuck, but when the tavern hits closing time, Donghyuck always catches Mark glancing back at him before leaving. He laughs at Jaemin and Jeno's jokes like not even a day has passed between them, and tilts his body into Renjun's space too often to be a coincidence, but Donghyuck can tell that he wishes he didn't need any of them.

Mark never looks as weak as he did that first night, however. Donghyuck suspects that it's a façade. He doesn't know why Mark dropped it for him in the first place, or why he bothered to erect it again. Even though it's an impractical lie, Donghyuck is relieved he doesn’t have to fear Mark will crumble down at any moment. It's true that Mark has a special spark to him, that people's fascination is justified, but Donghyuck, who saw how bright that spark was before, can just think of him as a flame dimming out.

It's at the end of those two weeks, once Donghyuck adapts to this new routine and to a silent Mark in his life, that he breaks his impassiveness.

Donghyuck’s mind remembers Mark's unpredictability, and it's a matter of time, a matter of hopeful will, so the night that Mark roams outside the tavern, smoking a cigarette, Donghyuck doesn't feel scared. Donghyuck explicitly kicked him out fifteen minutes ago, since Renjun and he had drunk more than they normally do, and they kept murmuring and laughing at Donghyuck.

Donghyuck blames the bad decision on Mark's intoxication, but that doesn't explain Renjun's sudden disappearance, or why Mark is allowed to be on his own. He's glad that he dispatched Jaemin early today, though, because he doesn't want to rely on the easy solution – Mark wouldn't approach him with Jeno and Jaemin present, or at least he hasn't dared to do so.

When Donghyuck steps out, Mark is leaning against one of the houses, the darkness of the night fusing his figure with the old white walls. Judging the length of his cigarette, he's on the second one, and Donghyuck dedicates him a stern look before walking past him.

“Don't go,” is all Mark tells him, even though he doesn't move from his spot. Donghyuck considers not stopping, but curiosity wins over him, and his feet come to a halt before he can remember this isn't what he wants. With apparent calm, Mark adds, “I'm waiting for you.”

Donghyuck looks over his shoulder. Mark isn't smiling, but his gaze is perched on Donghyuck, and it burns like a scalding blade in the middle of winter.

“I can tell,” Donghyuck retorts. And then a lie, “But I don't care.”

Mark doesn't sink his teeth into that trap. He's aware that Donghyuck likes riling him up, that he has many reasons to do so and none to pity him – he's probably the only person in the world that isn't disposed to kiss the ground he walks on, but also the only one who knows that Mark has a limit.

Mark also knows that Donghyuck won't leave him, so he doesn't have room to feel pleased as Donghyuck spins around to face him, to stay. He draws on his cigarette, tilts his head as if to call him over, and Donghyuck feels his chest tighten with expectation.

“I thought you couldn't be left alone,” Donghyuck remembers, but it's too late to build excuses.

Mark draws a grin for him, eyebrows raised with condescension, and points out, “I'm not alone.”

He steps towards Mark, shortening the distance between them until he can distinguish the little mole on Mark's cheek. The memory of that mole under his lips flashes before his eyes, red and intense and breathtaking, and his mind naturally jerks him into a destructive spiral. Mark used to have a pretty mole on his neck too, and when Donghyuck kissed there, he arched and gasped, and both of them laughed at how good it felt. Donghyuck wonders how many boys have touched him there by now, if they kissed better, if they made Mark feel things Donghyuck never could.

Standing in front of Mark, Donghyuck feels awkward, and that sentiment grows once Mark gazes away from him. Donghyuck is familiar with loneliness, and that's what lies behind Mark's pupils, the reason he can't stand Donghyuck's scrutiny for long. It's ironical that, even with that blatant tension pulsating between them, Donghyuck hasn't felt this sheltered in months.

Donghyuck's throat feels rough when he asks, “Are you even allowed to smoke?”

Mark smiles again, just once before expelling all the smoke to the side. Donghyuck realizes his mistake: it's a question that shows that he's worried. Donghyuck might not have the courage to interrogate Mark about his problems, but he's sure that smoking isn't a good sign. Mark rarely smokes when Renjun is around, so he must be under some sort of limitation.

“You're still so fussy,” Mark accuses him, a funny edge in his tone. “Do you want me to tell you about my recovery program?”

“Don't pull that shit on me,” Donghyuck warns him.

It's always push and pull with them, an unmovable game. Even after five years, Mark is smart enough to press on Donghyuck's weak spots on the first try. A boy that has spent his whole life in this town wouldn't know anything about drugs, even less about recovering or about how and why Mark dipped into them so hard. It's insulting that even Mark's mistakes paint him superior to Donghyuck.

“Want?” Mark offers him, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

It's just one word, but it's charged with defiance and mockery, and Donghyuck's anger blinds his reason. He's smoked a few times, though he doesn't have the money for nonsensical addictions, and he's curious to see what Mark is trying to pull out of him.

He tips into Mark's space, his hand resting against Mark's chest on purpose, and his senses are filled with Mark’s mint scent and the warmth of his body. It's just fair that Donghyuck is the first to touch, and it's fair that it catches Mark unprepared. Mark’s semblance thunders with confusion, but one second later the only sign of discomfort is his tension, and Donghyuck parts his lips for him.

The silence is absolute when Mark's gaze settles on his mouth and slips the cigarette between Donghyuck's lips. Donghyuck looks into his eyes instead, from beginning to end, until Mark's expression darkens. Then, without waiting for a response, he uses Mark's chest as an anchor and steps back, breathing out the smoke over Mark's head.

When Donghyuck closes his mouth, he looks down just to find Mark's attention fixed on his exposed neck. Perhaps he's way tipsier than Donghyuck assumed, because Mark doesn't even try to hide where he's looking, just idly drags his eyes up back to Donghyuck's semblance.

“Jaemin was right,” Mark says, only that, and then puts the cigarette between his lips like it never touched Donghyuck’s mouth.

Donghyuck shouldn't pry. That's what Mark intends to provoke, and the smartest choice is to ignore him and go home, but Donghyuck has already jumped too far tonight.

He wants to _know,_ to enjoy a piece of the conversations that his friends have with Mark about him, so the question rolls off his tongue, “About what?”

“Ask him.” Mark studies his expression, either to evaluate if his trick is working or to make sure Donghyuck hasn't reached his limit. “Or stick around and you'll get your answers.”

Among all the possibilities Donghyuck imagined, Mark asking for his company wasn't one. Mark asking him to have him back, even as a friend, sounds like a cruel joke. Because this is how Mark pleads: with conditions, with a lie, with an excuse. Donghyuck needs something different to hear him out, he needs the truth, he needs a _please, stay_. That would be enough to pulverize the wall that Donghyuck has built against him, but neither this Mark or the old Mark would ever rip himself open for love.

“That doesn't sound as mysterious as you think,” Donghyuck rejects him. He blinks up at Mark, vision blurry as he takes in his apparent indifference. “You should have a better offer to convince me.”

Mark snorts at that, and then tilts his head back, putting his cigarette off against the wall under his hips.

“God,” he whispers, more for himself than for Donghyuck. The slant of his lips remains untouched, and he closes his eyes, sharply inhaling for the first time tonight. “I've missed this.”

Donghyuck doesn't know what he's talking about. He doubts Mark missed _him_. Maybe he missed their town, the tavern, or the freedom of being invisible. Maybe he missed the fights Donghyuck put up, the feeling of being tongue-tied, of looking for the wrong words for the right person, instead of the right words for the wrong person.

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls then, as though he can detect how Donghyuck’s thoughts wander away from this moment. When Donghyuck stares at him again, Mark licks his lips in expectation, and shoots, “You’re alone at home?”

Under other circumstances, Donghyuck would misinterpret the question, but the boundaries between them are so thick that not even Mark could ignore them right now. Mark isn’t proposing going home with him: he knows that Donghyuck doesn’t want to spend a single second of his night with him.

He's asking _why_ Donghyuck is alone, why he's not doing anything to fix it. He's asking for permission, too, to reach out and fill the tiny empty spaces of Donghyuck's life, spaces that Mark created himself once he left. Donghyuck could have let other men in, but he didn’t, either by choice or by force, and Mark is aware of that. It doesn’t matter. The end is the same.

“Jaemin sometimes stays with me,” Donghyuck admits, a small confession that vibrates in his chest for a few seconds.

“Good.” Mark nods to himself, satisfied with the answer. His approval gnaws at Donghyuck’s nerves, because it’s the first sign that Mark cares about his well-being, and that’s not supposed to happen. There are cracks in Mark’s expression that let Donghyuck see the light underneath the cover, but he’s afraid of them. Mark blatantly ignores his tense silence and adds, “Just tell me when you’re ready, if you ever are.”

Donghyuck is incapable of agreeing to that, but Mark would never coerce him into it. Both of them know that Mark needs to step into Donghyuck’s house at some point; not only for the memories, but because it’s part of who he was once upon a time, and his recovery depends on remembering and finding himself. Donghyuck still has some of his belongings hidden in the attic, movies and pictures and a couple of drama scripts that Mark wrote when he was eleven.

This time, as Donghyuck studies Mark’s face, he truly catches a glimpse of what he’s supposed to be, of what he’s not, and how deep his self-destruction runs. It’s been running in his veins, in his system, and now that his hands are tied behind his back and he can’t indulge in it anymore, he’s clutching onto the only other thing in the world that could destroy him: Donghyuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re right,” Mark agrees, the most unexpected admission of fault. Donghyuck breathes in so deeply that he slants over the wall, and Mark frenetically looks down to make sure he hasn't lost his balance. They allow that moment to stretch between them, Mark facing the sea and Donghyuck facing the town, side by side. “I never meant to make you feel less than my dreams, Donghyuck, but people dream about what they don't have. Before I had you, it was you who I dreamed about. And once I had you, I dreamed about leaving with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi here is chapter 2!

When Renjun settles the wad of bills on the counter, the first thought that filters into Donghyuck's mind is that he's never seen so many drachmas together.

It's an inner reaction that makes him hate himself, that greedy seed that blossoms and grows without control – human nature, Donghyuck would like to claim, but it's not that. The surge of excitement that explodes inside him is raw desperation: the realization that he hasn't used his radiators this winter because he can't pay the bills, that he shivers under the covers every night, even if he wears two sets of pajamas and tugs Jaemin into bed with him more often than not; that he constantly fears he'll have to forbid Jaemin to help him in the tavern, since one day he won't be able to afford his salary.

It's early in the morning, and Renjun has come alone. His solitude is what gives the bills a different meaning, and as he taps his slender fingers on the bunch of drachmas, Donghyuck feels like vomiting. Renjun scans his semblance, lips quirked up to the side as though he can read through Donghyuck, as though he’s transparent. Maybe he is. Renjun must have dealt with boys that were better than Donghyuck at hiding his emotions, at playing hard to get, and this is no challenge.

“What's that?” Donghyuck manages to utter, feeling so tired out of the blue that he considers giving up, considers not arguing with Renjun at all.

Renjun comes from a different world, however. He perceives Donghyuck and his weaknesses, and he must have done this sort of deal before, because his semblance is void of remorse. That just irks Donghyuck further.

“A little tip,” Renjun clarifies, momentarily looking around the tavern. Donghyuck can tell that he's searching for Jaemin, that even if Renjun might not feel guilty, he still knows that this isn't _right_. Once he deems it safe, he arches his eyebrows at Donghyuck and adds, “For treating your customers so well. For spending time with them, too.”

Reading between the lines is harder than Donghyuck expects, since panic drips into his veins drop by drop and obscures his logic. Or maybe it’s because he doesn't want to grasp all the implications of that money. Donghyuck doesn't know if Renjun is thanking him for listening to Mark last night or if he's asking him to do it again. Or if Mark gave him the order to pass him some money because it's evident that he's having a hard time – the mere thought of being Mark's charity work makes Donghyuck's blood boil with anger.

“You're trying to buy me off?” Donghyuck bites out, tasting bitterness on his own tongue.

Renjun doesn't try to deny it. “You need the money,” he points out, waving his hand around the tavern to prove his point. Donghyuck nearly grunts at that, feeling insulted, but Renjun doesn't pay any attention to his pride. “This place was dead when we arrived. Besides, it needs some remodeling, the walls are falling off.”

It's both offensive and revealing how sincere Renjun is. Donghyuck is used to the opposite: to people and friends dodging the bad parts of their lives. Turning their problems into a taboo, as though ignoring them would make them vanish, has never quite worked for Donghyuck. Mark is the best example of it. Donghyuck avoided the problem for years and now he’s back, clawing strongly into Donghyuck’s guts, and with an annoying peer to back it up.

“Does Mark know that you're paying me to- to what?” Donghyuck scowls at the bills, but that doesn't lessen the temptation. He feels like he's breathing through his own anxiety, like there's a net made of branches, full of thorns, in his lungs. “Talk to him?”

“I didn't tell him, but he'll figure out on his own.” Renjun shrugs, because to him, it doesn't matter. Using money to reach a goal must be natural, and Donghyuck doesn't want to believe that Mark agrees with this behavior, but delusion isn’t a good look on him either. Upon his reticence, Renjun rests his elbows on the bar and insists, “Mark isn't as naive as you think. He'll accept you even if I paid you and crushed his _honor_ in the process, if that's what it takes.”

Appalled, Donghyuck stares at Renjun with wide eyes. He looks younger today, though Donghyuck can't pinpoint why; his black hair is layered over his forehead, and he's wearing a blue shirt that shapes his frame and shows how thin he truly is. Even thinner than Mark, except he doesn't look sick or exhausted because of it.

Donghyuck wonders if, despite being Mark's friend, Renjun needs some time away from him sometimes. Last night Mark sucked all of Donghyuck's energy in a few minutes, and if that’s the constant effect he has on everyone, then Donghyuck can’t imagine how Renjun bears it.

“I don't understand this,” Donghyuck admits. And he doesn't, not completely, because he assumes Mark still prefers his pride over him, his fame over him.

“I don't need you to understand it,” Renjun retorts, but his gaze softens at Donghyuck's words. Given the high wall Donghyuck is, how tightly he's closed up against Mark and Renjun, it must be a surprise for Renjun to hear honesty in his voice. “It's just once, for all this,” he reminds Donghyuck, pushing the money towards him. “And then you're free to continue or not, no money involved.”

Gauging the offer is tricky, since Donghyuck can't tell if it's a trap, not anymore. While his instinct tells him to turn it down, to not sell out his principles for some money, his sense of pride is asphyxiated by Mark, by his voice and his words and the sadness etched in his eyes. The lines of their relationship are blurred – they are nothing, and at the same time they are everything – and the offer is irresistible. That money would help him to spend the rest of the year without worries, and he could ask Mark some questions, could ask just enough to make sure that Jeno and Jaemin won't be drawn into his deepest issues.

Donghyuck sighs and closes his eyes, and Renjun grants him that time to think. “I don't know what you're hoping for, but if it doesn't work-”

“It's not me who has expectations,” Renjun interrupts him, very serious.

Donghyuck glances at him, now well-aware that Renjun isn't doing this because he pities Mark: it's because they think this is another step Mark has to take to recover. The side of Renjun that is just Mark's friend would never let him latch onto his first love, at least not if Mark told him the whole story. All of them are equally forced to work on this so that Mark has a chance; Renjun has no option as his manager, and even less as a friend.

And Donghyuck could walk away, but since the moment Mark decided to come back home, Donghyuck's destiny has been highlighted in red, in a straight line to him.

Renjun licks his lips and adds, “Just remember Mark is under a program right now.”

The accusation baffles Donghyuck, and he can't repress the sharp glare he throws at Renjun. “I'd never hurt him.”

Only when Renjun sends him a surprised look, does Donghyuck realize what he has just said. In a world where everyone would take advantage of Mark, a promise of that caliber rests between them like a tombstone. It would be worse if Donghyuck tried to explain that he means that he'd never hurt _anyone_ in that state, and it's too late. Both Renjun and he know that he means it.

“I'm not talking about drugs,” Renjun says, ignoring his huge confession. He breathes in, evaluating if it's the right moment to continue, and Donghyuck's curiosity tickles him from within, like there are a million ants running in his stomach. Renjun’s gaze pounds on him, heavy and unforgiving. “You can't fuck him.”

Incredulity shakes Donghyuck so hard that he can just scoff a strained, “Excuse me?”

Renjun's words carry an implicit accusation. He expects Donghyuck to spread his legs for the handsome Hollywood boy in front of him without hesitation; that, or he deems him capable of taking advantage of Mark's debility. It’s so ridiculous that Donghyuck mistrusts his own hearing.

But when Donghyuck scoffs, Renjun doesn't laugh with him. He dedicates him a pointed, stern look. A long warning that bathes them in an equally long silence. That's how Donghyuck knows that Renjun isn't toying with him, that he's serious, that he's not pulling at Donghyuck's patience for fun.

“Drug addiction, sex addiction, it kind of came all together,” Renjun tells him, no filters, no pretty words to adorn the truth.

Donghyuck's heart falters, and he's certain that for a few seconds, his world remains petrified, frozen, as his blood becomes warmer and he sees white star-shaped spots in his vision. There's so much Mark hasn't told them, so much underneath the façade – he wouldn't have told them a single thing if he hadn't gotten caught, anyhow. The little details that the press revealed are the surface of the story, and Donghyuck might be too innocent for Hollywood, but he fears for Mark. He's afraid of what he must have done, of what people must have done to him.

“I'm not saying it will happen, because judging you two-” Renjun grimaces, like that's enough of an explanation. Like their relationship is so torn apart that he doesn't have faith in them. The next thing Donghyuck registers is that Renjun is giving him an appreciative once-over, “But, you know. He's not blind.”

Under other circumstances, Donghyuck would rebut that insinuation, but the nausea rising in his throat paralyzes him. It's not important that Renjun thinks he's a danger for Mark; it's always been the other way around.

“I'm pretty lost here,” Donghyuck retorts, and though he's made an effort to compose himself, he still sounds weak and confused. “I've never slept with him, and I'm not going to. _And_ he's not going to ask.”

That catches Renjun off guard. Donghyuck doesn't comprehend why he would assume that they had sex when they were only fifteen, but at the same time, it makes sense in the real world: no one would expect Mark to so be hung up on a boy that he merely kissed, even if he was the first one. It's a sour feeling, because Mark and he had been more than a reciprocal crush. They had been friends, _everything_ for each other, and they had been too young to think sex would be an important threshold in the future.

“Oh,” Renjun says, but his harsh semblance collapses and a mocking smirk vibrates on his lips. “You don't really know shit about Mark anymore, do you?”

That, Donghyuck realizes, is _bait_. Donghyuck's protest disintegrates before he can even form it, but it takes up a lot of energy, and Renjun is too smart to not catch the ephemeral frown on Donghyuck's face.

“You're right,” Donghyuck agrees, “and I don't want to know shit.”

Renjun's eyes shine with more light now, as he watches Donghyuck try to trick him with a badly prepared lie. “Sure,” he concedes, so patronizing that Donghyuck feels a wave of heat over his cheeks and his neck. “You're worse than him.”

Donghyuck doesn't know what that means, but he buries the need of asking. Renjun lives in his own world, a world that the three of them share now, and Donghyuck has a hunch that his eyes perceive more than Donghyuck and Mark's do. He doesn’t want to play this game against Renjun.

Renjun reaches out to hold his hand, and Donghyuck almost jerks away without thinking twice. But Renjun's grip is tender, and he just leads Donghyuck to press on the bills until he carefully wraps his fingers around the bump.

“Live a little, yeah?” Renjun tells him, and this time he's not making fun of him.

Donghyuck swallows the knot in his throat, giving Renjun a tiny nod. The warmth of Renjun's hand is more comforting than the bills beneath his palm, but it's all a fallacy. Renjun is Mark's friend, not his, and he'll use Donghyuck as long as that grants Mark a chance.

Donghyuck could regret this decision. Mark could hate him for accepting, even though Renjun believes he won't – but Donghyuck is Donghyuck, and he's not supposed to act like the other men that have been controlling Mark's life these last few years.

It's bad news that Mark doesn't appear in the tavern in the whole day.

His trail is still there, however. They get almost the same amount of customers as when Mark is around, except it's all about hopeful glances towards the entrance and whispered gossip while Donghyuck serves their food and drinks.

It doesn't take too long for Donghyuck to suppose that Mark despises Renjun's idea, that his disappearance is either a rebellion or a punishment. Otherwise he would be here, reveling in the fact that Donghyuck lost his integrity in favor of money, and overall, enjoying that he could have Donghyuck without begging for it.

Over the embarrassment and the regret of giving into the deal, Donghyuck is relieved. This is the test of fire for Mark too: a Mark that is uncomfortable with giving Donghyuck money in exchange for company is a boy that Donghyuck recognizes. There's a baseline Donghyuck can grip onto, even if everyone thinks that he doesn’t know Mark anymore. Even if it’s evident that Mark isn’t his Mark anymore, not entirely, and Donghyuck needs to learn to live with that.

Throughout the afternoon, Donghyuck makes an effort to shove Mark to the back of his thoughts and focus on working. Jaemin perceives his tension right away, but since Donghyuck keeps his mouth shut, so does Jaemin. Given Mark's absence, they have more time to analyze each other, and Jaemin doesn't hesitate to plant a few kisses on his cheek or to pat his butt when no one is looking. Donghyuck would usually cling onto Jaemin for emotional support, but today every touch stabs his determination, and when their shifts end, he doesn't stay for too long with Jaemin.

It doesn't come off as a surprise, but that night, Donghyuck dreams about Mark. And when he wakes up, Mark’s voice rippling inside his head and the ghost of his lips on his neck, he reaches over the bed to make sure that Mark isn't there. That they're not fifteen again and Mark has stayed the night because they got caught up in their own games, in their own conversations – but then Donghyuck remembers that Mark would have hold his hand while they slept, and he clenches his fingers into a fist, the fantasy softly shattering.

For a while Donghyuck believes that he's still half-asleep, but even when the tug of his own conscience disappears, the voices reverberating inside his house stay. He sits up, realizing that Jeno and Jaemin are there in flesh and bone, not as a product of his dreams. As Donghyuck drags himself out of bed, he can hear them laugh a few times, and they only fall into silence when Donghyuck slams the door of his bedroom open on purpose.

Jaemin and Jeno are in the living room, cozy on the couch as they watch TV. They've taken their shoes off to hop on the couch, and they’re entangled in each other, but they don't detach when Donghyuck steps into their space. Donghyuck is used to the three of them sharing physical affection anyhow, it's just that the whole situation doesn't make sense. His friends have invaded his house for no apparent reason, and Donghyuck is upset they haven't even made breakfast for him – he might be a bit spoiled at this point.

“What are you doing here?” Donghyuck shoots at Jaemin, climbing on the couch with them. He has trouble to find his own space, so he plops on Jeno's thigh, sending him a feline smile as soon as he groans. “We have to open the tavern.”

“Change of plans,” Jaemin merrily replies. Donghyuck knows this is a bad sign even before Jaemin announces, “We're not working this weekend.”

Donghyuck doesn't consider that he's relying on his work as a constant distraction, but the idea of closing the tavern for a mere day terrifies him. He hasn't taken a day off since his mom died. He didn't have any motive to do so. In general the tavern doesn't give him a lot of work, and he prefers spending the day there than at home, empty and alone.

“And what's the reason?” Donghyuck asks, shifting over Jeno's leg. Jeno bends his knee to warn him that he should stop moving, and Jaemin laughs at them. “If I may know.”

Jaemin draws his attention back to the screen, where _Flashdance_ is playing – they’ve watched the movie a thousand times, and Donghyuck is slightly amused this is Jaemin and Jeno’s plans for today.

“You got paid pretty well, didn't you?” Jaemin remarks then. The way he asks is casual, but judgment boils underneath, with a certain grade of reproach. Donghyuck straightens up, embarrassed, and Jaemin insists, “You could stop working for the whole year if you wanted to.”

That's when Donghyuck recognizes it: disappointment. They're not angry at Donghyuck, and they don't have any intention of pulling his strings like he's a marionette, but since Jaemin and Jeno still value Mark's friendship, it's a personal betrayal that Donghyuck had to be bribed. It's an insult that Donghyuck, with all the leverage in his hands, refuses to give Mark a chance on a human level, that he refuses to believe in his good intentions but will comply for money.

“Mark is angry,” Jeno chimes in when the silence becomes so deep that it’s evident Donghyuck won’t defend his actions. “He argued with Renjun. We know all the details _,_ so don't pretend.”

Donghyuck predicted that much, but having a real confirmation is unnerving. He wonders if it was Mark himself who told them to start this war, but Donghyuck doubts so. Mark doesn't look remotely strong to jump into that right now, even less if he had to avoid the tavern after the argument because he couldn't face Donghyuck.

“I had to,” Donghyuck mutters, but he doesn't explain it further.

For many reasons, this is the only chance for him too. He needs money, that's clear, and his friends aren't going to shame him for resorting to desperate measures – they're aware Donghyuck’s life is in shambles, and unlike for them, his parents aren’t here to help.

But Donghyuck needs this excuse to sit with Mark and talk, too, and that's what neither Jaemin nor Jeno know.

As much as Donghyuck doesn't want Mark in his life, part of him craves for that pretty, fake lie in which Mark belongs to him. A world where Mark would come back home and stay with him because he still loves him.

“Mark says he'll meet you by the church tonight,” Jeno tells him. He changes his position, moving away from Jaemin, and holds Donghyuck by the hips so that he doesn't fall to the side. Donghyuck reckons this isn't a conversation to have while they're cuddling, but the fact that his friends are breaking their own moment to attend him puts a heavier load on Donghyuck's shoulders. “At midnight. Do you want to?”

The excitement that walks under Donghyuck's skin makes him sick. He shouldn't feel this, he shouldn't want it, not after Mark has become a dark print of himself, constantly hiding his eyes behind a cap, his physical scars under his sleeves and his emotional scars behind a celebrity front.

Donghyuck bites his lower lip, looking at his own lap, the palms of his hands sweating. He can't stare into his friends' eyes as he admits, “Yes.”

Despite how big this confession feels, the response is underwhelming. Maybe because everyone knew that Donghyuck would surrender, and maybe Donghyuck himself knew too; he just thought it would take him longer to say it out loud. If Renjun hadn't roped him into this mess, Donghyuck might have hidden it until Mark left again.

Jaemin grants him an understanding look, but he doesn't respond. On the other hand, Jeno squeezes his arm and says, “Be careful.”

“I can take care of myself,” Donghyuck replies, equally confused and taken aback. He squints at Jeno, feeling that they're not on the same page. “He's not going to hurt me, Jeno.”

Jeno's laugh shatters the tension among them. Donghyuck is still numb, his own heart deafening him, and he stares at him dumbfounded.

“I meant, be careful with him,” Jeno explains with a shake of his head. Mark isn't the dangerous piece for him. It's Donghyuck. And though Donghyuck wishes he could contradict him, the truth is that he doesn't trust himself around Mark either. Jeno takes a deep inhale and rubs Donghyuck's thigh to tug him back. “Jaemin and I are bringing Renjun on a trip around the island this weekend, so you'll be alone with him for a couple of days.”

“What?” Donghyuck feels his mouth go dry in the split of a second. “Renjun?”

After three weeks, Donghyuck is perfectly conscious that his friends have connected both with Mark and Renjun, but this leap is huge. It's a reminder that he's the only one stuck in time, fighting against the inevitable. He’s tired of fighting.

“He's nice.” Jeno shrugs, but his shoulders are tense, and he dodges Donghyuck's curious glance. “It's just that you haven't given him a chance.”

Renjun and Mark come hand in hand. He's part of Mark's new life, and if Donghyuck is about to dip his toes into that lake, Mark isn't the only person Donghyuck will have to get used to. It would be worse if Renjun didn't have Jaemin and Jeno's approval, and though Donghyuck's suspicions flower, he can't claim that Renjun is a bad choice. The real threat lies in that spark in his eyes, that air around him that could jerk people towards him.

“If you want to work, Mark will work at the tavern with you,” Jaemin adds, since that's his problem too. He took a sudden vacation without telling him, and Donghyuck could go into panic mode and decide to spoil all their plans and the deal. “Look, considering what Renjun told us, Mark had a strong breakdown over this. It's either his terms or nothing, and it might get very ugly if it's nothing.”

Donghyuck evaluates those words, burrowing his burning feelings and latching onto logic. He imagines that Mark would love to help at the tavern as revenge; since Donghyuck ruined his safe space, Mark could do the same. Donghyuck doesn't want him there, not because they'd be alone sometimes, but the opposite. Mark's presence implies other people, and in consequence that implies Mark will sport his perfect, fake façade. Donghyuck prefers to spend time with him, only the two of them, even if that horrifies him as well – even if that strips Mark from his crafted layers and leaves him naked and vulnerable for Donghyuck.

Donghyuck can bear the nightmares that will come afterwards. They'll hurt less than the memory of Mark smiling against his neck, or the delusion that Mark is next to him in bed.

Jaemin and Jeno leave two hours later, and along Renjun, Donghyuck accompanies them to the port. They laugh at Renjun all the way down as he struggles to carry his suitcase, since Jeno warned him that he didn't need to bring a whole survival set for a couple of days, but in the end Jaemin takes pity on him and lends a hand. It's all the protection Renjun needs to not end up rolling over the slopes of their town, though the sight of him – perfectly dressed, expensive leather shoes on, and dragging his fancy suitcase – is quite peculiar in contrast to the old houses and the rusticity of their town.

There are just a few cars parked at the port, and Jeno's old Seat 600 is waiting for them. Against Donghyuck's expectations, Renjun doesn't even spare a judging glance at the car, even if it's clearly ancient and puts Jeno's family in evidence. The townsfolk don't care about cars and fancy material possessions, but Renjun comes from another world. Donghyuck expects a snarky remark that never comes, and Renjun is unfazed at the confused glance Donghyuck sends him.

The three of them discard their coats into the trunk, and when Renjun insists in lifting his suitcase alone, the weight of the suitcase makes him trip into the trunk too. Jaemin has to tug him back by the hem of his jeans in resignation, but both Donghyuck and Jeno bend over the hood with laughter. There's a scarlet shade on Renjun's face as he straightens up, and he walks around the car just to give Jeno a playful shove on the shoulder. Donghyuck watches them in interest, watches them in a new light, and his laughter dies with it. For the first time Renjun looks like a normal boy their age, not like a boy with too much experience on his back to build a friendship with naive town boys that are grazing adulthood.

Renjun seems to remember that Donghyuck is still there only once Jeno and Jaemin get into the car. Since he's the last one to hop in, there's only space for him in the back of the car, and his hand perches on the edge of the door as he looks back at Donghyuck one last time.

“Take care of my boy, Donghyuck,” Renjun whispers, completely serious. His black hair flaps with the wind, and so do his clothes, and for a moment Donghyuck isn't sure if this boy is part of reality or just a figment of his imagination, another complement to finish his hallucinations about Mark. “I'll take care of yours.”

Donghyuck glances at Jeno through the window, but he's busy tuning into the radio with Jaemin, and neither of them is interested in their unprompted exchange. He doesn't understand how Renjun could take care of them; both of them know this island like the back of their hands, while Renjun would get lost in a matter of minutes if he was left alone in the middle of another town.

“Remember the conditions of our deal?” Donghyuck asks him, and Renjun's semblance breaks into an incredulous smile. “They apply to Jeno and Jaemin too.”

Donghyuck himself is ashamed of his own bravery, but that's nothing compared to the mischievous joy on Renjun's face. It must be tremendously funny that someone like Donghyuck is trying to condition what Renjun does or doesn't do, especially when there's no proof that Renjun has deeper intentions beyond having fun. Donghyuck knows Jeno and Jaemin, however, and can recognize all the signals of a whim.

“Too late,” Renjun happily retorts. Donghyuck is torn between believing that it's just a joke or that he's just given Renjun another reason to chase his friends, because Renjun's smile expands like venom. “Boys in this town are definitely too pretty, and there isn't much to do around here, right?”

With a roll of his eyes, Donghyuck claims, “I can't stand you.”

Renjun doesn't stay to fight, just laughs out loud and prompts Jaemin to move so that he can slip into the backseat. Donghyuck doesn't take his own words seriously either, and that's why Renjun dismisses his complaint. Once he's safely tucked in the back of the car, he makes a point to wave at Donghyuck from behind the window, and so do Jaemin and Jeno before starting the engine.

Donghyuck can't help but smile to himself as he observes the car march up the hill, rubbing at his forearms for some warmth. He hasn't spent a single day without Jeno or Jaemin in five years, but for some reason, he doesn't have that grating sensation of abandonment. Maybe because just like five years ago, Mark is on the other side of the equation, and Donghyuck isn't alone.

They’ve always been a family of four.

The Panagista Tower sits at the edge of the ocean, and like most of Skopelos, the church and the stairs that lead to the peak are painted with an immaculate white color. When Donghyuck was a kid, he loved running up the stairs and peeking at the ocean from the highest point, but now he doesn't remember the last time his shoes scraped the surroundings of the church.

This place is a good choice for Mark, however, and Donghyuck doesn't question it. No one wanders around this zone at night, even less at midnight, and even if they did, there would be no reason to walk up to the church. Besides, the sea is unbridled tonight, and the noise of the waves crashing against the rocks and dying on the shore will drown their voices. It's a well-known trick: when walls aren't enough, secrets are shared by the sea.

It's all they need, all Mark wouldn't be able to have anywhere else: privacy and familiarity.

That may be the reason Donghyuck's fears are completely buried within as he strides to the highest spot. His avarice, his need of Mark is stronger than any other urge, and it scares him, but not enough to restrain him. That fright becomes adrenaline that drives his muscles and keeps him solid, in one piece. He hasn’t felt this unshakable in a long while; he looks at his own body, down at his hands, and recognizes himself again. With chemicals running through him, he doesn’t remember what was like to see the world through his fatigue and the lethargy of his life.

Mark is seated on the edge of the wall, the ocean roaring behind him and his black clothes fusing with the horizon. For once, he's not smoking. Donghyuck expected him to, since it's a sign of nervousness, of lack of control. Or perhaps he has no faith in Mark. Considering that Renjun is gone, there might be something stronger than nicotine in his system, any substance that could keep him sane for a couple of days without withdrawals.

He has thrown his head back, and the wind seeps through the strands of his hair, his palms supporting his weight and his legs slightly parted. Donghyuck is certain that Mark doesn’t hear him, and since his eyes are closed, he can’t see Donghyuck approach him either.

Even though Mark arrived at Skopelos one month ago, the shift in his weight is prominent. He still looks fragile, but Donghyuck doesn’t have that odd sensation that touching him might break him, that he’s made of paper bones and his flesh will smear under his touch. And when his eyes open, Donghyuck notices the subtle change in his gaze too. Black pupils blown, two dark points that devour the brown of his eyes. Debility gone, replaced by a tint of insanity that sends a shiver down Donghyuck’s spine.

Mark might not be entirely high, but he’s not sober either.

“Why are you standing around?” Mark asks him, and it sounds like a legit question. Donghyuck steps forward, hesitant, strangely scared that Mark might add a humiliating remark. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

“I know that,” Donghyuck assures him.

Mark's gaze lingers on him as Donghyuck pads to the wall. If he was a stranger, that level of scrutiny would be rude, but it’s Mark, and Donghyuck can’t feel intimidated by his unexplainable, insatiable curiosity. Donghyuck imagines that Mark is used to that attention himself, so he doesn’t consider it a bother anymore.

Donghyuck clambers on the wall, making sure that he doesn’t accidentally touch Mark in the process. Despite his evident struggle, Mark just lets him be and follows every one of his moves with bored neutrality.

Quietness is all Donghyuck receives at first. He keeps his chin up, not daring to glance at Mark even if his gaze is insistently piercing through Donghyuck’s profile. In his peripheral vision he perceives even the slightest detail of Mark’s reactions, and thus he doesn’t miss the way he drags his hand sideways, bit by bit.

Mark’s boldness still comes off as a surprise: his hand rises up to Donghyuck’s face and hovers there, just for a single second – a second that longingly asks for acceptance. Donghyuck doesn’t move, because he’s intrigued by Mark's intentions, and because he wouldn’t forgive himself if he broke the rawness of Mark's request.

Mark’s palm settles underneath Donghyuck’s chin, and his fingers carefully wrap around his jaw. Donghyuck feels his own pulse under Mark's touch, like every inch of his body has its own heart to respond, but Mark doesn't intend to point that out. He doesn’t intend to turn his head so that Donghyuck looks into his eyes, either. Instead he leads Donghyuck’s chin upwards first, exposing his neck, as if to admire his semblance. Donghyuck holds his breath in, but he doesn’t comprehend what Mark is doing as he guides his face towards him: when Donghyuck desperately looks for a hint on Mark's expression, Mark doesn’t even meet his gaze.

That's when Donghyuck understands: Mark is observing him. His cheeks, his jaw, his eyebrows, his nose. Donghyuck grips onto his own courage, but it feels like Mark’s pupils are caressing his features, and that’s more than Donghyuck is ready for.

“So this is the face of a man that sells himself,” Mark concludes, letting go of him, fingertips detaching from his face like Donghyuck’s skin might taint him.

Donghyuck deflects the accusation. “Still, you're here.”

Otherwise, guilt would munch on Donghyuck’s conscience. Mark has set up this encounter because, even if he claims that Donghyuck is dirty, they’re not that different.

“Yes.” Mark blinks, a spark of interest flowing through his expression. Donghyuck has the urge of looking away, but Mark’s gaze keeps him there, strong, clawing his way into Donghyuck’s pride. “I know what I want to, even if this isn't how I want it.”

After building a cover of lies, the truth is a hard pillow to swallow. But Donghyuck involved himself into this mess, and he has no right to draw a line that cuts right into Mark’s comfort. If Mark is disposed to admit he needs Donghyuck, he’s no one to stop him.

Just like Mark touched him, Donghyuck brushes the back of his hand. Mark doesn’t look away, but he flinches at the contact, as though his first, most basic response is escaping from Donghyuck. The possibility of a rejection dangles in the air, and Donghyuck continues, for the attempt is worth that and much more. His fingers graze over Mark's wrist, over smooth skin and little scars that make Donghyuck's fingertips slip.

Neither of them breathes, and all the vitality of their bodies condenses in the patch of skin that connects them. In the blood ascending through Mark's wrist and tickling Donghyuck's fingers. In his veins, his tendons and the warmth of his body, that remind Donghyuck that Mark is very much alive now, but that if no one had been there to catch him, Donghyuck would have never seen him again. He'd have just become that teen boy that kissed him and then blew up with childish dreams about Hollywood just to find out that the world behind the curtain wasn't all that pretty.

Donghyuck needs more than this. He needs to know that Mark is real, that he's safe, and tugged by his own fear, he slowly tries to slide his fingers under Mark's sleeve, to touch beyond what Mark shows to the world.

“You want to see my arms?” Mark snarls, and his wrist automatically clenches, green veins standing out against fair skin. Despite the lack of physical refusal, Mark bites out a harsh, “No way.”

Forgetting that Mark's body doesn't belong to him is his first mistake. Just because Renjun freely touches Mark, it doesn't mean that freedom extends to Donghyuck. He had Mark once, but not anymore.

Even though Donghyuck stops and settles on Mark's wrist so that he doesn't mistrust him, he doesn't undo the path he's already walked. Moving away from Mark would be a step backwards, and they can't afford that.

“I saw your wrists at the tavern the first night,” Donghyuck confesses, and Mark flickers his eyes up, surprised. It's such a strong emotion that Donghyuck wants to scream, because this new Mark has never shared something as intense and real before. Their first encounter happened so long ago that Donghyuck shouldn't remember, and Mark was so gone that night that he would have never caught such a small detail. Donghyuck wonders if he was just focused on scanning Donghyuck, just like Donghyuck had scanned him. “I can imagine what the rest is like.”

Mark considers his words, or maybe just his intentions, because Donghyuck knows he has lost before Mark opens his mouth.

“No, you can't,” Mark assures him. He squints at Donghyuck, even though they're so close that there's no need to; whatever is on Donghyuck's semblance, that's not what confuses Mark. It's his own incapacity to interpret it, to string the logic of their conversation together. “And it will stay that way.”

The combination of fear and determination in Mark's eyes is overpowering, so Donghyuck tears his gaze away. He can't bear that deep within, Mark is afraid Donghyuck will go against his wishes and tug his sleeves up by force. He would never force Mark.

“Why?” Donghyuck softly asks him. He draws his fingers towards Mark's palm and perceives, with pure stupor, how Mark's tension vanishes at that sign of respect. “Are you ashamed?”

“Yeah.”

Mark doesn't hesitate, but neither does Donghyuck. “You should be.”

The wave that crashes behind them deafens their words, drops of water filling the air around them, and then Mark is laughing, and laughing, tilting his head back as his laugh bores into Donghyuck's confusion and amazement. The heat that creeps upon Donghyuck is only drowned by the cold water that floats around them, but he's sure that under the moonlight, Mark will catch sight of the blush on his cheeks.

Mark doesn't mention it, but as soon as he senses his fluster, his laugh dies into a grimace, into the attempt of a fake smile. Habit, Donghyuck notices.

“God, you have no tact at all,” Mark says, like that's the perfect explanation for his fit of laughter. Donghyuck's harshness amuses him, because it's not admiration and starry-eyed flattery, just the damn truth.

He looks so pretty, even now, that Donghyuck is tongue-tied. He could never get used to Mark's smiles, not the ones that are organic and that boil with a dozen emotions. The night laps at his beauty and frees a side of him that Donghyuck hasn't seen yet; perhaps this is Mark when he's still happy, when drugs are still in his system. He's grown up, not a kid, surfing through a rare, ephemeral moment of happiness, and Donghyuck feels sucked in by Mark's undertow.

“I think people had too much tact with you, Mark,” Donghyuck says, because it's what he believes, but Mark looks so pleased with the turn of events that Donghyuck has to repress his own smile.

“Either too much or none,” Mark confirms. It's only then Donghyuck notices that they're not touching anymore, but he feels Mark closer to him now. Whether it's a delusion or reality, Donghyuck drinks from Mark's eyes like he's just crossed a desert. “Find balance, asshole.”

The insult doesn't throw Donghyuck off, but he can't restrain his own reactions, not even as Mark observes him to get a gist of him and of the effect his words have on him. Donghyuck's only consolation is that Mark might not remember this tomorrow, and at the same time, it's that possibility that terrifies him.

Upon Donghyuck's silence, Mark whispers, “I’m not going to ask, Hyuck.” The nickname stirs an ugly response in Donghyuck, but when he focuses his blurry vision on Mark, there's no trace of shame there. Mark isn't aware of what he's said. It's natural for him. “If you want to tell me, then do.”

Of course Donghyuck wants to. Beyond his unhealthy pull towards Mark and the money, there's another reason that brought him here: he climbed these stairs to unleash that tiny reproach that will eat him alive as long as Mark is in Skopelos.

And it slips easily past his lips, really, much more easily than Donghyuck hoped for, “You’ll leave again.”

Mark presses his mouth into a tight line, scrunches his nose in frustration before looking away. He stares back at the sea, dangerously swirling over the edge of the wall. Donghyuck's hands itch with the reflex of holding him, but Mark isn't clumsy nor suicidal, so he fists his hands at his sides.

“I’ve just arrived, and you’re already thinking about when I’ll leave,” Mark notices, and he's right. Donghyuck has mastered that to protect himself. “That’s always been your problem. You don’t know how to live in the present.”

That had always been the breach between them. He loved Mark, as much as a teen could love his first boy, but he couldn't forgive Mark for dreaming beyond their lives. The utopia of enjoying the present would have only worked if he hadn't known that it had an expiration date, that Mark had put a temporal tag on their relationship.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Donghyuck retorts, pain seeping into his voice for the first time. He's hold up strong tonight, but if this is what Mark wants to discuss, it's a lost war for Donghyuck's ego and the lies blanketing it. “You never lived in the present with me. You were always dreaming.”

Mark glances at him with a sweet, pulverizing shine that, Donghyuck knows, will leak into his mind later tonight.

“You’re right,” Mark agrees, the most unexpected admission of fault. Donghyuck breathes in so deeply that he slants over the wall, and Mark frenetically looks down to make sure he hasn't lost his balance. They allow that moment to stretch between them, Mark facing the sea and Donghyuck facing the town, side by side. “I never meant to make you feel less than my dreams, Donghyuck, but people dream about what they don't have. Before I had you, it was you who I dreamed about. And once I had you, I dreamed about leaving with you.”

“I couldn't leave mom.”

“I know.”

Mark knows, he knew, and he never asked Donghyuck to go with him on his insane trip without return. Donghyuck never even suspected that Mark would have wanted him to elope with him, even if they were terribly young and unstable. But it makes sense. Donghyuck thinks that Mark had to be a bit selfish to break their relationship, and that made them equal: Donghyuck was just as selfish. The real generosity lied elsewhere, in the fact that Mark left him behind because he was aware that Donghyuck couldn't break free, and that leaving wasn't freedom for him anyway.

“Maybe I'll leave,” Mark adds with a sigh. And Donghyuck's chest hurts, tightens with a desperation that shouldn't exist. That's how he knows this little chance is a mistake, or so he thinks until Mark finishes with, “But that’s having too much hope in me.”

Donghyuck can't help it: he snaps his head towards him, a wave of electricity that charges the peace around the church. Mark stays put, unrelenting, and drenches in Donghyuck's shameful show without a word.

“Really?” Donghyuck breathes out, and he hates how hopeful he sounds, how his emotions transpire into his words and he lays bare for Mark in a matter of seconds. “You came back thinking that there was a chance you wouldn’t leave again?”

Even to Donghyuck's ears, that question is a terrible joke. The idea of spending the rest of his life in this town horrifies Mark, has always insufflated that terror in him, and he wouldn't have crossed the Atlantic ocean if that implied Skopelos and Donghyuck would become his prison – not even a drug addiction problem that could bury him would have convinced Mark otherwise.

But maybe Renjun is right, and Donghyuck doesn't know anything about Mark anymore, because he's here, and because it's not in his hands to escape this island again.

“I have to recover first,” is all Mark concedes him, eyebrows arched. That's the ghost of his façade, but they've crossed too many lines tonight, and Donghyuck doesn't deem Mark capable of closing up now. “Did you forget?”

That's the dark silver lining. It's not a matter of Mark staying because he might change his mind: as long as he's sick, this is his rehab. Donghyuck should _want_ him to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck mutters, lower lip trembling against his will. Donghyuck bites down on it to stop, and when Mark's attention inevitably fixes there, Donghyuck's heart bolts like a scared horse. “I do forget sometimes.”

Mark lowers his head, digging his nails into the stone under their bodies, and a shy smile tugs at his lips.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he decides. “I don’t know if I will. Renjun says it’s a life-long commitment, and that I’ll never get anywhere if I don’t have my head where it should be.” Mark checks his expression, eyes wide and a hint of ambition that unsettles Donghyuck, as though Mark is waiting for him to agree with Renjun. As though Donghyuck would know something like that and could give him hope. “That’s here, not in Hollywood.”

A million questions shuffle through Donghyuck's mind, but he can't hold onto any of them. They're like small birds that fly away when Donghyuck tries to trap them, just like Mark.

This unexplainable need of knowing what happened, what Mark thinks, what Mark feels, is Donghyuck's own dilemma. And it's unjustified, because it goes against all Donghyuck is fighting for: blocking Mark from entering his life was a vital piece of this game, but it's too late. Donghyuck lost as soon as he accepted the money, or even before that: when he indulged Mark's request to talk that night outside the tavern.

After trying to breathe some courage into lungs, Donghyuck asks, “Who roped you into that?”

There had to be someone, someone very specific that put the first pill, the first spiked drink, or the first syringe in Mark's hand. Both of them know that. That's the reason Mark's semblance darkens, all the previous calmness fading. That way, with a scowl on his face and the line of his jaw bulging out, he resembles the Mark that stepped into Donghyuck's tavern without permission.

The only difference is that the latent shade of weakness isn't present; it's all pure, concentrated frustration.

“You can’t just ask such questions, Donghyuck,” Mark grunts at him, a lot harsher than Donghyuck imagined. He doesn't recoil, however, because he has the right to ask, just like Mark has the right to ignore his question. Mark isn't a menace to him, not physically; the danger resides within Donghyuck and how weak he is to Mark's presence. “You either want to be in my life or you don’t. There’s no in between if I have to tell you about this.”

Donghyuck casts his glance down, a turmoil of doubts crashing into him. This is another deal. Step by step, Mark will slip into his system if Donghyuck doesn't put a barrier against him.

But Donghyuck can't deny him this, can't allow only the tiny bits of Mark's life that are pretty and comfortable to hear. Maybe Mark needs to speak about the ugly bits too, to someone that has never experienced them – not to Renjun, or his other manager or any of his peers. If they grew up surrounded by that, they can't understand how fatal Mark's fall was.

Donghyuck can.

His silence prolongs, and Mark must interpret it as refusal, because he whispers, “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Considering he probably is, Donghyuck doesn't outright deny it.

“That, or your charms don’t work on me,” he remarks, peeking up at Mark's face.

Mark lets out a low laugh, and his momentary happiness makes the air between them vibrate. Even under the black veil of Mark's eyes, Donghyuck is sure that he's having fun tonight. “You think I’m charming, Donghyuck?”

If the boy in front of him was one of his summer boys, or Jaemin, Jeno, or even Renjun, Donghyuck would cup his jaw and kiss him without hesitation. But it's Mark. Mark's lips are red and swollen from the cold, and Donghyuck wants to seal that blank space with the fire that brims inside him. Mark isn't a boy anymore: he's a man. A man that has lived, experienced, and survived things that Donghyuck can't even picture - and unlike for the boy that left this island, a kiss won't be only a kiss.

The distance between their mouths is a thread that keeps them safe. The desire burning in Donghyuck's soul is the exact opposite, the urge of jumping and falling, just to have a new beginning on a broken page.

So Donghyuck takes the closest decision to kissing Mark, and with his heart clenching into a fist of bad decisions, he stares into the abyss of Mark's gaze and says, “Tell me everything.”

That's how they part home that night: with the promise of staying in each other's life.

The temporary tag is perched on them, and maybe their promise will only last for a few months or a single summer, but for once Donghyuck doesn't allow himself to think about the future. His feelings aren't more vital than Mark's health, and if Mark needs him as a clutch, Donghyuck can swallow his pride for a while. It's what everyone wants from him, anyway, and if Jaemin and Jeno are fine with this, Donghyuck is safe.

Mark’s story isn’t meant to be told in one night, so Donghyuck doesn't protest when he leaves with his hands empty. After spending a couple of hours with Mark, he needs to recover and rest – and extinguish the excited tingling that flashes through his whole body.

They decide to meet at Mark's house, since his parents will be away in the morning and his other manager will only visit to follow the usual routine. Donghyuck doesn't know what that means, but judging Mark's tone and nervousness, it's better not to pry.

Donghyuck doesn't get much sleep after that, if he gets any at all. He isn't sure if the images that play under his eyelids are dreams or just anxiety-induced hallucinations. They're not about Mark, though, because Donghyuck is already so intoxicated with him that his mind needs a break, and when Donghyuck climbs out of bed, he can't remember anything.

His obstinacy has made him avoid Mark’s street all this time, thus it's nerve-wracking to walk the path to his house, aware that today he’s supposed to halt and stay. Even though Donghyuck is on good terms with Mark's parents, Donghyuck has always rejected their invitations and their attempts to bond with him. Given that Donghyuck had lost his parents and Mark's parents had virtually lost their son, Donghyuck was terrified of the possibility of being a substitute for the family.

That same doubt is what keeps him in front of the door for a while before he can bring himself to knock. Even then, the noise of his knuckles on the wood is startling, and he promptly draws away with timidity, not wanting to cause a ruckus. But it's a nonsensical reaction, and Donghyuck regains his composure as soon as he hears movement inside Mark’s home.

It’s not Mark who opens the door for him, despite Donghyuck’s expectations. It's a tall, thin man with pitch black hair and round eyes, who slowly dedicates him an evaluating once-over, whose eyes fix on the way Donghyuck is still fumbling with his own hands. He’s quite elegant, with his perfect stance and his piercing eyes, but he doesn’t come off as cold as someone from Hollywood should do.

“Hey,” the man greets, a pleasant smile expanding on his face. Donghyuck isn't the most perceptive person, but it feels fabricated. Polite, prepared, without any true intention to reach Donghyuck, like he deems Donghyuck needs it for his own good. “Mark's friend, Donghyuck, right?”

Donghyuck gives him a curt nod. “Yeah.”

The man already knows that, but this is his peculiar way to size Donghyuck up. He steps aside to invite Donghyuck in and, aware that he's being carefully observed, Donghyuck enters with as little vacillation as he’s capable of. Mark told him last night that he had to inform about all the visits beforehand, so they're expecting Donghyuck.

“I'm Doyoung,” the man introduces himself then, closing the door behind them. He points towards the hall with his chin, not bothering with formalities, and adds, “Mark is in his bedroom, but I think he needs a few more minutes with the doctor. If you don't mind waiting here.”

It's not a question, but a warning. Doyoung's words suggest enough to silence Donghyuck's impatience. If Mark is still with the doctor, it's because things aren't working like they planned them – by now Mark should be alone at home, not with Doyoung and his doctor.

“That's fine,” Donghyuck manages to utter. “You are-?”

Doyoung understands the implications right away, since he interrupts with a sharp, “I'm Mark's therapist.”

That information might be meant to condition Donghyuck, but he pushes those thoughts away. It would be unrealistic to assume that Mark never talked about him to his therapist, so Doyoung must know displeasing facts about Donghyuck. It makes Donghyuck feel defenseless. He's sure that Mark's memories of him weren't obscured by his behavior once he left, or that's what he hopes. Mark could have idealized their relationship, but what came afterwards was just silence and distance; Donghyuck felt abandoned, while Mark _was_ abandoned.

Even in the case Doyoung hates his guts, it's Mark's decision to have Donghyuck over or not, and considering that everyone agrees that they should give each other a chance, Mark must have green light to do this.

Donghyuck quietly sits on the couch, lifting his head to scan the house. Trying to find changes after five years is just a strategy to ignore the noises that seep from Mark's bedroom, and when Doyoung disappears too, Donghyuck closes his eyes in relief. He can perceive Mark's voice through the hall from time to time, a few moans of pain, and voices interlacing in soft-spoken discussions.

By the time Doyoung shuffles into the hall again, it feels like an eternity has passed. There's a woman with him, who Donghyuck supposes is Mark's doctor, and both of them head to the door while rapidly talking.

“He could feel drowsy for the next hour or so,” the doctor tells Doyoung. Donghyuck leans back against the couch in an attempt to peek at the entrance, but he doesn't have the right angle to spy on them. “But it's safe to leave them alone, as long as the boy knows the rules.”

 _The rules_ , Donghyuck muses to himself. Other than not involving himself sexually with Mark, no one ever mentioned rules to him; the rest – not tempting Mark, not pushing his limits, not discouraging his recovery – are obvious.

Donghyuck is incapable of staying still as Doyoung strolls to the living room, and though he should feel partly intimidated by a therapist that can read his body clues, he steps into the hall to meet Doyoung halfway. The doctor is gone, and Doyoung raises his eyebrows at him, questioning. Donghyuck merely stares at him.

“You're free to go,” Doyoung announces, extending his hand towards Mark's room. “I won't stick around for long, so don't worry about me.”

The temptation of asking why Donghyuck would worry about Doyoung is strong, and for a split second he's about to fall into Doyoung's trap: into a conversation. He mutters a dry goodbye and spins on his heels, striding to Mark's room as though he's undoubtedly prepared for who he might find there. His bluff doesn't uphold itself, but Doyoung doesn't need to know that.

Overwhelmed by his own anxiety, Donghyuck forgets to knock, but Mark isn't in an odd situation, just sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head hanging down. Despite Donghyuck's sudden appearance, Mark remains quiet and still. Only his gaze travels up to meet Donghyuck's eyes, and in slow motion, Mark seems to recognize him, blinking and blinking until he assimilates Donghyuck's figure in front of him.

There's no need for Donghyuck to greet him. A good morning would be an insult, so Donghyuck limits himself to closing the door and letting Mark take the first step. And Mark does, except it comes in the form of a snort, shoulders shaking with laughter as Donghyuck observes him. He doesn't understand why Mark is laughing, but it feels off, as if that laugh doesn't belong to his throat, as if Mark doesn't truly find anything funny.

Donghyuck lets him laugh, but it's so unsettling that in the end Donghyuck bites out, “What are you laughing at?”

Mark, Donghyuck notices, looks like he's just woken up, even if it’s not the case. In contrast to his messy hair and the vague aura of vulnerability around him, he sounds very sure of himself when he responds, “Your face.”

“My face?” Donghyuck repeats after him, confused.

“You look worse than me,” Mark explains. He lifts his head at last, following the natural direction of his gaze, and Donghyuck has to make an effort not to look at the skin that peeks out under his shirt, his Adam's apple heavily moving. “Maybe I should just tuck you into bed and force you to sleep.”

It's the highest form of mockery right now: the idea of Mark taking care of Donghyuck is ridiculous. It’s proof that Donghyuck isn't taking care of himself either.

“You're so funny,” Donghyuck retorts, not disposed to elaborate on the reasons he looks terrible. They don't need to discuss that, since Mark is smart enough to figure out that he's giving Donghyuck more than a headache. It's easy to tug everyone into his personal hell, into sleepless nights full of worries. “Didn't you say only your manager would be here?”

Mark drops back on the bed with a sigh, either disappointed or bored with Donghyuck's attitude. Donghyuck takes that chance to study Mark's body, now that he's not covered in layers to protect him from the cold, now that he doesn't seem so reticent about letting Donghyuck _see_. He's still thinner than he should be, but there is color on his cheeks and the hood he's wearing doesn't swallow his frame like a blanket. It's big enough to cover his arms, however.

“I miscalculated the time,” Mark excuses himself, a blatant lie. It wasn't a mistake, but an accident. Mark isn't interested in disclosing that, so he throws Donghyuck an arrogant smile and asks, “Are you uncomfortable with Doyoung? He's a little shit, loves to meddle in my life like his pay depends on it.”

It's impossible for Donghyuck to repress a giggle at that joke, but at least he manages to subdue it right away. He walks around Mark's bed, coming closer, measuring their limits, just to discover that the harm is already done. He shouldn’t have laughed. Mark follows every one of his moves like he's a predator, a smile on his face, delighted with Donghyuck's wariness.

“You're surprised I can tell jokes,” Mark whispers, fingers methodically drumming on the mattress. He rolls onto his side to glance at Donghyuck better, and though he's not afraid, Donghyuck recoils by instinct. “This is pathetic.”

It's not clear if Mark is hurling that insult at Donghyuck or at himself, and Donghyuck doesn't want to find out. The contentment peels away from Mark's gesture: his gaze loses focus, swaying to the ceiling instead of Donghyuck's face, and for a moment it feels like Mark isn't there with him.

That's when it clicks.

Donghyuck's tongue is as heavy as rock when he whispers, “They've just gotten you high, haven't they?”

The smile Mark sends him is enough of an answer, pure thrill void of true happiness. There, with Mark lying on the bed like an angel with his wings spread, reality is hard to distort.

Mark has been going to the tavern during evenings, afternoons at the earliest, and now Donghyuck understands why: because he receives his dose in the morning, and its effects can't be concealed. They wear off bit by bit throughout the day, until Mark seems functional. Last night he must receive an extra shot since Renjun wasn’t there to watch him.

“It's part of the process,” Mark lazily tells him, dragging his attention to Donghyuck again. Instead of looking into Donghyuck's eyes, he looks past them, like he's made of transparent crystal, like Donghyuck is farther away or on the wall. “I can't quit all of a sudden, I've been taking so much… stuff that it would kill me. I can't tell if this is the easiest path or the hardest, though.”

Donghyuck's assumptions were similar to that, but he hadn't imagined that Mark would still be on the heaviest substances. Nicotine and alcohol are harmless in comparison to whatever is expanding through his system now. Donghyuck is afraid to ask. It could be heroin, cocaine, he doesn't know – Mark might be addicted to drugs that Donghyuck has never heard of, even. He doesn't want to know.

They stare at each other for so long that Donghyuck wants to give up, wants to turn around and leave this house – leave Mark alone. Mark’s room is stuck in the past, just like Donghyuck, with his _E.T._ and _Back to the Future_ posters, and the man on the bed stands out like a flame in the middle of the ocean.

“I don't like you when you're high,” is what escapes Donghyuck’s lips, a sort of cruelty that he wants to bite down.

Mark doesn’t seem to appreciate his opinion, but he’s unfazed, like he considers Donghyuck’s words just. They _are_ just.

“You would like me less if I wasn't,” Mark mutters, with such certainty that Donghyuck knows it’s not an act. His sincerity spikes something akin to panic in Donghyuck’s blood, because Mark isn’t supposed to be hurt by this, he isn’t supposed to _agree_. If Donghyuck fights, Mark has to fight back, not bow and surrender. “Trust me.”

Donghyuck seals the last stride to Mark’s bed, and before some logic seeps into him, he’s leaning over Mark, blocking his sight, palms on the mattress and body perpendicularly slanting over him. Mark parts his lips, stares at him as though he can distinguish rainbows and multicolor lights in Donghyuck’s eyes, equally amazed and perplexed. Mark used to look at him with this sort of fascination, strung by their first kisses and the first touches, but now it’s not real.

“Don't say that,” Donghyuck warns him, voice trembling. “You don't know that.”

Neither Donghyuck’s proximity nor his words soothe Mark. The effect is the exact opposite, as Mark understands that Donghyuck is scared of letting Mark believe that he’s better on his drugs, not off them. Mark doesn’t need his pity or a consolation; he’s not a kid that is looking for reassurance and who will change his mind after a few nice words. He hates his sober self as much as he hates his high self, and that’s not on Donghyuck.

“You're naive,” Mark spits at him, raising his hand to push Donghyuck away. Even though Donghyuck retracts, all of sudden embarrassed of invading Mark’s personal space, he doesn’t leave the bed. He wants to prove that Mark’s anger doesn’t turn him into a monster, that Mark isn’t dangerous. “Naive, stupid and gullible, and worst of all, you're not aware of it.”

Mark breathes out, defeated, and Donghyuck watches all his strength dwindle within a second. It’s not difficult for Donghyuck to understand what this is: an outburst, frustrated energy that exploded in the form of insults, and now that it’s gone Mark deflates like a punctured balloon.

Donghyuck handles Mark’s fall with an impressive composure, sitting next to him and waiting for him to gather his strength. Mark rubs at his face, groaning, and Donghyuck looks away from him with a knot in his throat. There's no use in getting mad at Mark for not being able to hold back, since it doesn't depend on him, but _naive, stupid, gullible_ runs in circles inside Donghyuck’s head.

Donghyuck drags his fingers over the sheets, closer and closer to Mark's face just so that he perceives his presence. So that he remembers that Donghyuck is real.

“I’m here to talk,” Donghyuck reminds him, “not to fight.”

Even if he'd love to contradict Mark, since he doesn't think that naivety can be measured with Mark's rules, he's not completely wrong. In many ways Mark is quite innocent for him too. They just differ in what.

“Yeah,” Mark answers, an attempt at acknowledging that he's listening to Donghyuck. He shuts his eyes close and takes a deep breath, and for what feels like a whole life, Donghyuck just wants to brush his hair away and caress his cheek. It’s a silly fantasy that Mark's rough tone shatters soon, “How much do you know?”

“I'm not sure.” Donghyuck traps his lower lip under his teeth, thoughtful. Lying won't do Mark any good, won't protect him from anything, and it's better for Donghyuck to come clean. “I know about the sex and drugs, but I don't know how, why or _which_.”

Mark's gaze, flooded with resignation, sweeps him. “That jerk told you.”

Under different circumstances, hearing Mark call Renjun an asshole would entertain Donghyuck, but not while Mark is so susceptible. He’s embarrassed of his own wrongdoings, he already admitted that last night. Everyone knows that he has a drug addiction, but Renjun shared the sex addiction secret only with Donghyuck. There must be a reason why, despite bothering Mark, it doesn't anger him.

“I think it's too late to worry about me being judgmental,” Donghyuck points out, biting the inner side of his cheek in concern.

Mark hums in agreement, but their conversation stalls. Without a word, Donghyuck helps him sit up, slipping a hand under his back and becoming Mark's support. He isn't conscious of how important that is until Mark turns to him, head cocking to the side like he can't stay up by himself.

“Down?” is all Donghyuck asks, and to his shock, Mark gives him a frantic nod.

The warmth that explodes in Donghyuck's guts is unexplainable. While he maneuvers Mark over the bed to lay him on his stomach, he realizes that he's _taking care_ of him. They're alone at home, Mark is in a vulnerable state, and he trusts Donghyuck to do this – he trusts Donghyuck enough to allow him to see all this and become his only anchor if something goes wrong. It's just not two old friends trying to glue a dead relationship together: it’s a commitment bigger than that.

“Are you just going to stay there?” Mark asks him, resting on his elbows. He looks much more comfortable in this position, much more conscious, and maybe that's why he pats the space next to him. “Lie down too, it's hard for me to look up.”

Whether it's an excuse or not, Donghyuck decides not to protest. He kicks his shoes off and falls on his back, carefully leaving a courteous space between Mark and him. Their proximity is overwhelming regardless, since Mark's bed is for one person, and the distance tugs Mark to look down at him in curiosity.

The last time they were in a similar position, Mark was on top of him, but Donghyuck doesn't know if Mark remembers, if that would even cross his mind at this instant. It's likely that only Donghyuck clings to their memories so desperately. He’s the one that hasn't had the chance to experience as much with other boys. Even if he had, he doubts that lying with Mark Lee on his bed wouldn't be as draining as it is now.

“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,” Donghyuck says, too nervous not to break the silence. “You don't owe me that.”

Mark seizes his expression, slightly befuddled. “I wouldn't have invited you here,” he explains, like it should be obvious. “But if you want me to stop, just say the word.”

Aware of the forewarning, Donghyuck swallows hard and represses a nervous response. It's a bad attempt anyhow, because Mark's eyes travel down to his neck, attracted by the movement, and then he looks back into Donghyuck's pupils as though he has just seen through him.

But Mark doesn't tease him. Maybe he figures that Donghyuck is scared of the story Mark might tell him, or maybe he's still too nice to play with Donghyuck's feelings. The third option is that Mark is just as fucked up as Donghyuck is, and digging his fingers into that wound will backfire on him.

“At first it was fun.” Mark gazes away from him, settling his attention on his pillow. His profile remains calm, serene, his chin on both of his palms; there's a slight trembling coming from his elbows, but Donghyuck attributes it to his position. Mark must not have enough strength to hold himself for long, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s adapted to his new body, to his new mind. “Everyone does it there, you know? It's important to get connections and friends, and do _business_. I know it sounds insane, but people are indeed insane.”

It takes all of Donghyuck’s determination not to grimace at that. He knows that Mark is weighing up how much he can offer without scaring Donghyuck away, and Donghyuck would hate himself if he wasn’t able to assimilate the simple surface.

“It's just that I got used to it, I guess,” Mark continues. His attention darts between Donghyuck’s eyes and the rest of his face, tracing different parts of Donghyuck’s features. As if now, with the blinding light of the morning and a peaceful room hugging them, he’s allowed to memorize Donghyuck all over again. “I was happy when I got my first role, during that first whole year, whether I was high or not. But then there was more work, and more pressure, and I was so alone without friends or family, just surrounded by people who wanted stuff from me.”

Even now, Mark looks lonely. So far away from Donghyuck. He blinks at Donghyuck with a mixture of indifference and calmness that, he knows, both of them will learn to despise with time. It’s a contradiction that under this wall made of rocks, Mark is just a boy without true love, running back to his childhood friends to salvage what’s left of him.

“There were no big moments of realization, no warnings that could have stopped me,” Mark says then, unconsciously whispering. Donghyuck stops breathing, the pressure around his chest growing, and it feels like even breathing could tear Mark’s story into pieces. “I don't know when it started happening, but one day I realized that when I wasn't high, I was unhappy. No, not unhappy. Miserable. Couldn’t even get out of bed, and if I had to shoot, then my former manager had to bring me something to _wake up_.”

Donghyuck understands that. Mark’s life has been quite different, yet Donghyuck has experienced how disasters discreetly become a parasite in people’s lives; there’s no explosion of terror, just a quiet organism feeding from within until it’s so big that can’t be put out. It’s always too late to stop.

“You were never happy?” Donghyuck muses, a question that he could have asked to himself. That might be the reason Mark isn't embarrassed of sharing this with him: because Donghyuck has been just as miserable, just as lonely.

Mark's disadvantage is that he didn't have anyone to soften the fall, or to pull him up once he had crashed on the floor.

“I was happy when I could talk to Jaemin or Jeno,” Mark confesses, and to Donghyuck's shock, his lips twist into an ephemeral smile. It's impossible to distinguish if it's bitter or sincere, if it's full of painful memories or of moments of false peace, a ray of light before he had to close the window. “But once I hung up, I always felt like a liar that didn't deserve them.”

He imagines Mark in his huge house, alone, latching onto the phone and anxiously praying for his friends to respond his call; the only alternative to destroying himself, the only alternative to reality and sanity _and hope_. And then Donghyuck remembers all the times he heard the phone and ignored it. All the times he made his own mom lie because he didn't want to let Mark think he could have everything in the world, while Mark was on the other side, with absolutely nothing.

“Would you have told me?” Donghyuck asks Mark, trying to repress the guilt that shakes him. “If I had picked up?”

When Mark's attention lands on him, it's soft, understanding. The question doesn't throw him off.

“No.” Mark adjusts his chin over his palm, angles his head to take a closer look at Donghyuck's expression, as though he's a little experiment and the results are unexpected. “Don’t feel bad about that. I’d have been so much unhappier if I’d had to let go of you every night.”

Donghyuck can't bear it. He closes his eyes, so hard that he scrunches his face in the process, wishing this would be only a dream. It serves him as a safety net from Mark. From his semblance, his feelings and Donghyuck's own overwhelming emotions, which darken with every second that passes by.

“Mark,” he mutters, a plea so that Mark doesn't continue talking.

All he replies is a tender, “Donghyuck.”

Silence follows, and Donghyuck senses the bed shift under him, but none of them break the peace that has landed between them. It wasn't in Donghyuck's plans to rip his emotions open for Mark today, not for a Mark that needs the opposite: a strong, solid floor underneath his feet, not a man that can't accept that he's made mistakes too. But for Donghyuck, those mistakes feel enormous, an invisible, giant hand hovering over the world, ready to crush him dead.

His mistakes play a part in who Mark is today, and even if Mark denied it a hundred times, truth would outlast them both.

When Donghyuck finds the courage to glance at Mark, he discovers that he's sunk onto the mattress, using his arms as a pillow and head turned to Donghyuck. He's staring at Donghyuck, has been staring since he closed his eyes, and now Donghyuck returns the same look with the certainty that they can't hide their secrets from each other. It's a losing game. Donghyuck doesn't want to lose anymore.

“I'm sorry,” Donghyuck whispers, because he is. He's sorry for being a petty kid that couldn't value their friendship over their romantic ties, and he's sorry for not being strong enough, even now, to support Mark.

“You shouldn't be,” Mark retorts, matter-of-factly.

“But I am.”

The other dozen reasons bubbling up fade away the next second. Insistence won't break through Mark's barriers, but it frustrates Donghyuck to discover that Mark refuses to blame people even when they're responsible. He did that when he was a kid, too, didn't want apologies after arguments and accommodated even the most insane requests to please others.

Donghyuck wonders if he's allowed to do this. If he can just stay in bed with Mark and observe that small, delicate face he's been avoiding for years, until the effect of the drugs wears off and Mark kicks him out. Maybe Mark just wants to look at him too, as if that would put out the spark between them, as if they could get used to each other again.

In hopes Mark will forget this moment, Donghyuck does himself a favor and glances at Mark’s mouth. Mark grins, his pretty lips stretching pink and his pointy teeth sparkling white. There's a curse there, a curse that entangles Donghyuck and jerks him into a forest that never ends; with Mark, it's always never-ending.

“I want to, but I can't do this yet. I can't even try or consider it,” Mark warns him, but he doesn't draw away. Donghyuck looks into his eyes, surprised, bells echoing in his guts. Mark isn't talking about kissing him, even if that's all Donghyuck wants and fears at the same time; he's talking about them beyond this moment, beyond today or tomorrow. “I'm a bit dead inside, Donghyuck.”

And Donghyuck doesn't want to fall in love with someone that can't feel most of the time, that can't love him back. He promised himself that he'd never fall for Mark, because Mark was bound to leave, because they had no future together, but he irremediably betrayed his own vows. Betraying himself a second time would be unforgivable.

That's why Donghyuck lies with a weak, “There's nothing to do, anyway.”

As Mark's smile vanishes, Donghyuck knows that his refusal doesn't surprise him.

“That's what your mouth says, but your eyes tell me otherwise,” Mark accuses him. He releases a long sigh, not out of frustration, just mere exhaustion. His eyelids seem heavier, every blink of his eyes slow and languid. “You need time, and I need you to wait for me.”

Mark is about to fall asleep, hauled by the substance overpowering his conscience, and Donghyuck could just ignore his words and let his dreams sweep them off. But he doesn't.

“And if I say no?”

Mark looks calm now, open to ugly sides of Donghyuck, and Donghyuck doesn't wish to hide. He smiles at that again, squashing his cheek against his forearms and looking at Donghyuck like he's just made a joke.

“You've always said no,” Mark answers. And he's right. It's always no, because Donghyuck is afraid of himself, is afraid of what will happen when he finally utters a yes for someone. “If your _nos_ are like they used to be, then I'll live with them.”

Because Donghyuck's negative was always the prelude to a kiss. Because he claimed to not love Mark, to not want a relationship with him, but then he would kiss him behind the main building of their school, would make him skip classes to make out in the bathroom, giggles and heavy panting interlaced in an endless circle.

Because Donghyuck says no only when he's scared, and the hurricane of feelings that Mark provokes is quite scary – and allowing himself to be happy, knowing that it will eventually disappear, is even scarier.

“I'm not the same person I was when you left,” Donghyuck reproaches, a reproach that is equally directed at Mark and at himself.

A delicate frown creases between Mark's eyebrows.

“I can tell,” he responds, voice velvety, distracted. It takes one more second for Mark to surrender to his exhaustion, breaking eye contact with Donghyuck, and he admits, “I'm glad you aren't.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending the whole weekend with Mark, Donghyuck should be immune. He should feel numb at the subtle smile Mark draws for him, only for him, or the ephemeral, raw happiness that reaches his eyes. He should have learned his lesson by now. No matter how pretty and enchanting Mark is, or even if he's the only person in the world that can make Donghyuck feel alive, he won’t crack under Donghyuck’s wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooo here i am to offer you: chapter 3. it took me a bit longer to get this out because it's been a rough week, but i hope you can understand! ^^
> 
> new trigger warnings: mentions of dubcon sex, dubcon drug use, and vomiting

By the time Donghyuck leaves, so many stories have slipped past Mark's lips that they've become a nonsensical scheme in Donghyuck's head. His life, ironically, has been complicated in all possible senses. Timelines intertwine and halt, both in Mark’s mouth and in Donghyuck’s brain, but he tries to dwell only on the important details. The names of celebrities and the crows around them don't matter; Mark's experiences do.

Even though Donghyuck doesn't offer his input, Mark knows when to stop. As much as Donghyuck wishes to be and appear strong, he can't hear about Mark's former manager. It seems to be one of the worst factors in Mark’s fall, endless tales about his manager hitting him or encouraging him towards drugs just to avoid the crash. Just to keep him working.

His manager never prevented him from spiraling into the ugly depths of the industry, and he didn't know how to manage a drug addict either – didn't know how to deal with the consequences, and never asked for help in case word about Mark's problems spread. It would have meant the end for both of their careers. If pushing Mark's face to a line of cocaine was necessary to wake him up for a schedule, then he was disposed to do it. And Mark _wanted_ to do it.

With the clock ticking against them, Mark doesn’t have enough time to discuss the whole story. Mark knows that Donghyuck fears crossing paths with his parents, so they agree to meet tomorrow, and Mark bids him goodbye by the door, drained and supporting himself against the frame.

With all those images and words filling every corner of his mind, Donghyuck is incapable of walking the way back home. The silence of his home is often terrifying, and now, in contrast to the noise roaring inside him, Donghyuck won't be able to bear it. The tavern is his only option, so he quietly slips inside and perches the closed sign on the door. He kills time by cooking himself a beef stew and then obsessively ordering everything in the tavern, cleaning the furniture several times just to avoid thinking about Mark.

Whether Mark has light or darkness, pain or happiness to offer, the thread of attraction Donghyuck feels towards him is unstoppable. It's unfair that after so long, Donghyuck can't brush him off as someone that won't stay in his life forever. Mark has come back _once_ , but if Jaemin and Jeno don't let go of him, then Mark and Donghyuck will run into each other again – in five or in twenty years, or in forty. They'll always spin in each other's orbits.

He thinks about Jeno and Jaemin, about whether they're having fun and playing around with Renjun. Their plan is much more appealing now, at least better than asphyxiating in Mark's room as his stories clench around them. Even if the island doesn't have any new places for Donghyuck to explore, sitting in Jeno's car and observing the unfocused forests run past them would block his trail of thoughts. Maybe if Mark had gone with them on the trip, his memories wouldn't be so clear and painful. Being trapped in the island is a perfect strategy to tear him away from the drugs, but a terrible one to protect him from his own thoughts.

They have only another day ahead, Donghyuck reminds himself. Just another morning with Mark and their friends will be back, and maybe Donghyuck won't feel the heavy weight inside his chest anymore. Maybe he won't feel responsible for his own feelings, for yearning for a utopia that will slowly asphyxiate them as he struggles to pin it down.

But at the same time, that's how Donghyuck has felt for the past few years, and it’s undeniable that with Mark around, he can breathe a bit better, even when Mark doesn't let him breathe, even when his dark eyes brim with despair and Donghyuck knows that he can't alleviate it.

Donghyuck can't heal Mark. He can't cure his drug addiction or the fatal disease of dreaming big. It's impossible to control the fire in Mark's head, and Donghyuck tiptoes on the brink of making the same mistake twice. He tried to put Mark’s fire out when he was young, and despite his failure, he doesn’t mind burning for a second time. Because Donghyuck's illness is a peculiar one, unbeatable, and if the fire devours them again, he’ll be disposed to gather the ashes.

On Sunday, it's Mark who opens the door.

A superficial scan sets off all alarms, but Donghyuck manages his suspicion and conceals it deep down his guts. There’s a rare deep pink on the paleness of Mark’s face, and even though he looks ready to go out, Donghyuck catches a glimpse of his coat on the hanger of the hall. Doyoung is standing behind him, right by the living room, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his lips as he studies them. It feels like Doyoung is watching a movie, a comedy, and he got dragged into it by accident.

Donghyuck has the courage to raise his eyebrows at Doyoung, feeling quite defensive over the strange situation, but his joy remains firm and sharp.

Mark’s nervousness nearly triggers Donghyuck’s nerves as well, and when he notices Donghyuck is having a glare contest with Doyoung, he looks close to throwing up.

It’s not that complicated to tie the dead ends. They must have had a talk about Donghyuck right before he showed up, which should either intimidate or unsettle him, but maybe that was Donghyuck’s aim. The effect in Donghyuck is benign. Mark's attitude is much more interesting than Doyoung’s manipulation, and their private conversations about Donghyuck are better off that way: private.

“We're not staying home,” Mark confirms, giving Donghyuck's chest a soft push so that he steps back.

Donghyuck yields, but he frowns first at Mark and then at Doyoung, whose smile widens without missing a beat. If Doyoung's intention was to madden Mark before his encounter with Donghyuck, it’s been successful, and Donghyuck can't tell if this is a trick directed at Mark or at him – if Doyoung is dropping Donghyuck into an aquarium full of sharks just to see how he fares with the problem, or if he can deal with Mark in the first place.

The lack of control irks Donghyuck too, so he makes an effort to keep his mouth shut until Mark shuffles out and closes the main door. Donghyuck is quite uncomfortable with the idea of Doyoung influencing Mark into a certain mental space, but involving Donghyuck as well should be a clearly drawn limit.

The scowl on Mark's semblance remains deep and tense as Donghyuck settles his hand on his back to guide him down the street. Mark sways to the side a few times, too unnerved to move in a straight line, but Donghyuck doesn't point it out and clutches at his ribs to steady him.

“Why can't we stay in today?” Donghyuck asks, careful, once they roll around the corner.

Mark doesn't even glance at him. “Because Doyoung refuses to leave,” he grunts, so utterly annoyed that Donghyuck has to repress a grin. Mark has many problems, and Doyoung is such a small one that Mark’s anger is ridiculous. “He thinks something happened between us yesterday and he doesn't want to take any risks.”

Donghyuck dwells on that for a moment. He doubts Doyoung would miscalculate their steps so drastically, without proof and with Mark denying it. There's still a missing detail that doesn't allow Donghyuck to put the pieces together. If Mark's sex addiction is so bad that Doyoung assumed he lured Donghyuck into his bed, then Donghyuck doesn't understand how Mark even held back from trying. Mark has the right to be angry at those accusations, considering how well he behaved – besides a few comments here and there, Mark hasn’t crossed the line of a friendship. In fact, Renjun has been more inappropriate towards him than Mark.

Maybe Doyoung just jabbed at Mark with that because he knew it would unsettle him.

“Why would he think so?” Donghyuck mutters, confused. Mark is striding to the top of the town in a rush, and Donghyuck’s hands itch for grabbing the back of his shirt and force him to stop. “And why is the solution letting us go?”

Mark ignores the question on purpose, flinging a warning look at him and then walking faster, as though leaving Donghyuck behind might quash his curiosity. Donghyuck is impressed at the amount of energy Mark has, even though he has trouble facing the sloped streets and can’t outrun Donghyuck at all.

“Mark,” Donghyuck insists, long footsteps to catch up. Mark’s attitude crawls on his skin – Donghyuck isn’t made to chase, has never been, and his patience is limited. “Answer.”

When Mark spins on his heels, the atmosphere around them stills. Donghyuck realizes his mistake too late: Mark is speeding through their town and avoiding his questions because he’s about to explode, because he fears he’ll lose control with townsfolk close, and Donghyuck is holding him back in a dangerous place.

Donghyuck has seen Mark’s harsh edges before, but right now his edges could make anyone bleed if they brushed against him. Anyone, but Donghyuck.

“I don't know, alright?” Mark grunts at him, closing the distance between them with a single step. Donghyuck almost holds onto him, but he knows better than touching Mark when he’s angry – after everything Mark has told him, he has learned that’s a terrible idea. He could incite a bad response, worse than Mark glaring down at him and heavily breathing through his nose. “Don't fucking insist.”

Donghyuck isn’t foreign to cowardice, but this isn’t a fight he would dodge. The retort sits on the tip of his tongue just for one second, and then he finds himself raising his index finger at Mark’s face and warning him, “Don't speak to me like that.”

For some reason that humors Mark, but it’s a somber shade of humor that doesn’t drag any happiness along.

“What are you going to do about it?” Mark challenges him, his lips becoming a tense, tight line. He gazes at Donghyuck with scorn, with a superiority that Donghyuck hasn’t witnessed before. Mark is broken, but that doesn’t hinder from knowing that he has enough power and money to silence his own friends. “You should wash your own mouth first.”

The corners of Donghyuck’s lips inevitably tug up, and all of a sudden he comprehends why Doyoung seemed so happy at Mark’s frustration. This anger is _progress_. It’s not indifference, or the numbness in which he suffocates when his drugs make effect. It shows that Mark cares about trivial problems like being misunderstood or being treated like a kid – and all that vigilance is taking a toll on him now that he can think beyond getting high.

Donghyuck’s smile reflects on him as well, confusion flashing across his features as he realizes that, instead of being scared of him, Donghyuck is amused. No one would feel entertained by a monster’s outburst, and perhaps that’s what destabilizes Mark: his own self-esteem relies on people’s perspective of him, and if Donghyuck doesn’t see him as a monster, then he isn’t one. Even if Mark thinks he’s supposed to be exactly that.

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck whispers, puncturing every sound so that Mark doesn’t mistake it for something else. Mark’s befuddlement leeches out until there’s none of it left, perhaps because he’s used to people tolerating his lack of control, perhaps because Donghyuck always plays a new route he can’t guess. Now Donghyuck understands why Renjun’s nonchalance is so useful to counter Mark. “Where are we going?”

The question brings him back to reality. His shoulders slump in defeat, gaze lost as it wanders over the roofs.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because he was running away without direction, just fueled by his own anger.

“If you’re escaping, you shouldn’t escape that way,” Donghyuck advises him, lifting his chin towards the woods. Mark shouldn’t escape at all, though, since there’s no way out. “The beach-”

Mark shakes his head. “There will be people,” he remarks, and Donghyuck cocks his head to the side, questioning, until he clarifies, “I don’t want company.”

It’s a peculiar way of saying he wants to be with Donghyuck, and the shock of that confession smoothens Donghyuck’s wrinkles with one blow.

“Maybe at the beach, but not if we go to the cliffs,” Donghyuck proposes. Mark stares beyond Donghyuck, as if to gauge the cons and pros of that risk. But Donghyuck is right: no one goes to the cliffs, and it’s a better choice than the port, the beach or the forest. “Come on.”

Mark’s silence is acceptance, and Donghyuck hesitates for a moment before holding his hand. Mark looks down as Donghyuck intertwines their fingers together, as though he can’t understand the gesture, but he doesn’t protest.

Donghyuck’s heart beats in his eardrums, thick and warm, and he wonders if Mark will ever feel like Donghyuck does again – if one day Donghyuck will hold his hand and Mark’s heart will be the one to run high and uncontrollably. Today Mark’s fingers are slightly cold, and though Donghyuck’s touch manages to thaw his frustration, it’s just a temporary solution that will wither sooner or later.

Donghyuck doesn’t care. He squeezes Mark’s hand and leads the way, eluding Mark’s curious gaze on him as they stroll through narrow streets. They only have a few hours ahead for themselves, and Donghyuck craves to see Jeno and Jaemin again, but he craves a couple of hours with Mark more.

On the cliff, the first signs of spring become evident.

They lie down side by side, far away from the edge, and Mark rests against a tree, legs hold tightly in his arms. Donghyuck drops on his back instead, smitten with the way the sunlight kisses his face; the winter seemed so long that not even Mark’s coldness can ruin this for him.

At first, they don’t speak. They don’t have any need to do so. Since they grew up together, there was plenty of time to mold to silences and to spend time together without a reason. When they were young, their parents used to take turns to send them into each other’s houses – now Donghyuck knows that it was because their parents wanted intimacy sometimes, which was impossible to achieve with a talkative kid at home.

Donghyuck is certain that Mark hasn’t had the chance to enjoy this sort of solitude in a long while, so he decides not to break the peace. He sneaks his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, though he opens them from time to time to make sure Mark is fine.

Mark doesn’t pay him attention, not during the first hour. His eyes remain fixed on the ocean, glassy and lost, but his presence is solid and heavy. Donghyuck appreciates that. All the blemishes in Mark’s personality are meaningless if he’s capable of making Donghyuck feel accompanied, if his mere existence makes him forget how lonely he is.

Donghyuck glances at Mark once, twice, three times. And by the fourth time, Mark lifts his chin, a subtle gesture of bravery, and asks to the nothingness, “Can I look at you?”

Even though Mark’s intentions are undecipherable, Donghyuck mutters, “Yes.”

Only then does Mark glance at him with dark, interested eyes, and he doesn’t stop there. He detaches from the tree and slips down to join Donghyuck; the only difference is that he lies on his side, chin on his palm and his elbow next to Donghyuck’s face. He dangerously hovers over Donghyuck, and the both of them visibly stop breathing altogether, clashing into each other’s space like a train wreck. They’ve never been subtle, always clumsy, and neither of them startle at the touch.

This is the reason Mark asked for permission. He wanted to come closer, to scrutinize Donghyuck’s features beyond the invisible line that exists between them. Donghyuck isn’t ready for this. The natural course for him is to thread his fingers in Mark’s hair and pull him into a kiss, but Mark doesn’t want that from him. He doesn’t mean to send Donghyuck into a spiral of delusion, just _stare_.

And Mark stares at him like Donghyuck has become a riddle. He might have always been one, it’s just that Mark didn’t halt to solve it. It’s different now that they’re self-aware and grown up, and Mark seems disposed to solve all the mysteries.

“What do you see?” Donghyuck whispers, following Mark’s gaze as it travels all over his face.

Mark focuses on his eyes, and then arrogantly raises one of his eyebrows. “You,” he says. “What else?”

Donghyuck doesn’t believe him; he’s slowly learning to detect when Mark puts up his shield, and that’s what Mark is doing. Donghyuck has no idea what provoked this reticence, but it’s unfair that Mark can take without giving anything in return.

“I don't know,” Donghyuck muses, a strange tickling sensation caressing his lips. “Do I change when you're high?”

A tiny frown blinks in Mark's expression. The question caught him off guard.

“I'm pretty sober now,” he retorts, a defensive slant in his words.

That pulls a smile out of Donghyuck. “I've realized.” He focuses on Mark's eyes, and Mark's pupils tremble under the idea of being evaluated. Donghyuck could point out that Mark's pupils are still slightly blown, but it's not because of the drugs. It's because they're together, close, and Mark's system pumps full of adrenaline; Donghyuck's does too. It’s just a different kind of drug. “You're rougher when you're sober.”

Just like he was on the first night at the tavern, when Mark hid truths on his tongue and the shaking of a withdrawal under his sleeves. The difference tonight is blunt: Mark can function by himself, can manage his impulses and choose his words to some extent. His ability to dodge Donghyuck's question is proof of it. Still, he's rougher than when he's high, mellow and subdued, just a print of himself.

Donghyuck grants him a couple of seconds to stabilize, and then whispers, “Why do you want to look at me?”

That's the million dollar question. Mark’s confusion evaporates, but the small hints of surprise replace it: his parted lips, the rapid blinking of his eyes, and the long moment of hesitation before acknowledging Donghyuck's words. Donghyuck assumes that it's a lost battle until Mark inhales deep, licking his lips, and a ray of determination filters through him.

“Because I forget what you look like all the time,” Mark admits. Donghyuck doesn't understand him, but he doesn’t want to ask and hinder Mark. He gazes away, biting the inside of his cheek, and explains, “Sometimes I look at you and expect to see your fifteen-year-old self, and then-”

Unlike Donghyuck, Mark hasn't had any news of Donghyuck in five years. No pictures, no movie posters or news on the TV, and though Donghyuck actively avoided studying Mark's face throughout the years, the shift was more fluid. Mark came back to find a completely different man that, somehow, had invaded Donghyuck's shoes.

“Then?” Donghyuck prompts him.

“I see you.” Mark's voice extinguishes, all his determination fading. Donghyuck waits, but he curls his fingers in Mark's sleeve to let him know that he's listening, that he's patient. Mark doesn't dare to look at him, still. “So different. Your jaw, your cheekbones, your eyes. You’re not a kid, and it’s strange because that’s what you’ve been in my head all this time. It was the only thing that still made me feel like a kid too.”

If Mark were to put his hand over Donghyuck's chest, he would find out how big his small words are for Donghyuck. Donghyuck knows that he's changed over time, but for him it felt like he was growing up hit by hit, forcefully. Hearing from Mark's mouth that his misery isn't the most palpable change is cathartic.

This time it's Donghyuck's turn to break the seriousness of their moment, and that's the reason he lets go of Mark's sleeve and jokes, “Are you trying to say I’m attractive?”

Mark doesn't waste a second to roll his eyes, but that's the perfect fracture of their tension, because his attention travels back to Donghyuck without fear.

“I suppose,” he says, giving into Donghyuck's joke. It's worse to tie himself into a discussion about Donghyuck's bad habits rather than playing along. “You're incorrigible.”

Donghyuck smiles at that, only the right corner of his mouth digging into his cheek. “That's because no one ever corrects me.”

“You just don't let them,” Mark reminds him, cutting him off before Donghyuck can continue with his lies. They smile at each other for a fleeting second, and Donghyuck has to coerce himself into breaking eye contact, certain that his chest will explode otherwise. “You know, I haven't told Jeno and Jaemin as much as I told you.”

 _Why not?_ is the first question that slices through Donghyuck's head, but the answer is evident. Mark won't appreciate the pressure. It's because Donghyuck has always loved him in a different way, because he won't treat Mark any different or paint him weak and delicate. Jeno and Jaemin would try to take care of him in ways that Mark doesn't need to be taken care of, and Donghyuck agrees that they’ll be happier living in a pinch of ignorance.

“I won't tell them anything if you don't want to,” Donghyuck says, a question rather than an affirmation.

Mark shakes his head. “You can tell them,” he assures him, though both of them know that Donghyuck won't. “But not _this_.”

The itch of joking around disappears under Mark's tone. Donghyuck's back hurts from lying on this position, so he nervously shifts, and Mark watches him as he comes closer by accident. Donghyuck isn't aware of that until Mark settles a hand on his stomach to stop him, but Mark himself doesn't draw away.

Donghyuck feels the heat both on his cheeks and his guts. “What's _this_?”

“The sex addiction,” Mark replies, and one second later he swallows hard, anxious, regretful.

It's fascinating for Donghyuck to perceive Mark’s efforts to be brave. He must have pondered for hours about how he should disclose this topic to Donghyuck; somehow, Mark's sexual life is a much more complex issue than the drugs ruining his life. Mark can recover from his addiction, can quit drugs altogether and never fall back into them, but intimacy will be inevitable in the future.

Donghyuck nods to give Mark permission, and Mark accepts with a sigh.

“I was high most of the time, so I don't even know how many people I’ve slept with,” he adds, and then he bites his bottom lip, unsure. Donghyuck can't even imagine how that feels like – he's slept with three boys in his entire life, and he remembers every single detail about them, every step they took in the way. “Or what I did.”

For Mark, half of these five years are a messy blur in his mind. Even when he tells Donghyuck these stories, they're embroiled and confusing, and he has to go back and forth in time to string all the events together. Donghyuck reckons that Mark hates that too; that he shared vital pieces of himself without being conscious of his own choices, that he got entangled into people's beds a thousand times and he can't remember if it was good, traumatic or dull.

Part of Mark's life has been stolen, but the thief is Mark himself.

Donghyuck lifts his chin, breathing Mark's air, and challenges him, “Is it important?”

Mark blinks down at him, and though he doesn't show any emotion, Donghyuck can see the wheels turning inside his head.

“It's scary,” Mark admits. “I don't remember most of it, I don't know if I wanted to. I fucked a lot of people when I was high, even girls.”

Both of them quiet down at that confession. Donghyuck knows that Mark has never been interested in girls, unlike Donghyuck and Jaemin. Donghyuck later realized it was just his own struggles caging him on the wrong side of the equation, but his three friends always had a clear view of their preferences. If Mark got into bed with girls, Donghyuck can imagine the shame he feels.

“Sometimes I couldn’t even move or get hard so I just let them fuck me,” Mark says, and this time the atmosphere is filled with resentment, a mixture of guilt and relief that lashes at Donghyuck too.

Donghyuck cups Mark's chin, carefully guiding him down to stare into his eyes. When they meet eyes, it feels like Mark is apologizing to him. Donghyuck wonders if it's the first time he shares this at all.

“Just because it happened- it doesn’t define you,” Donghyuck tells him, his fingers thumbing along his jaw. Mark closes his eyes, deflates into his touch with a vulnerability that rips Donghyuck's insides apart. “You can’t change the past, that’s just how it is, but don’t hold onto it. It's useless.”

It's ironical that those words are coming from Donghyuck, who keeps clawing at his own past with his nails.

“I can't stop thinking about it,” Mark muses. “Maybe if I knew what I did, who touched me, it wouldn't eat me up.”

Within, an earthquake shakes Donghyuck to his bones. He's aware that he can't do anything to help Mark, but now he yearns for it, wishes he could just give him a light tap with a wand and make all his wounds close and heal. He wants to hurt every single person that contributed to Mark's misery, every single person that took advantage of him, or thought he was a prize, a trophy rather than a boy.

But there are no words to mitigate his pain, so Donghyuck curls his hand around the back of Mark's head and draws him down. Mark follows the invitation without vacillation, burying his face in the crook of his neck and letting Donghyuck pet his hair. Donghyuck represses all the thoughts that invade him, the feeling of Mark's leg interlaced over his and the weight of his abdomen pressed into his side.

Donghyuck's trembling is only disguised by Mark's own arrhythmic breathing. However, he's brave enough to caress Mark's hair and secure him there, eyes roaming to the slight sway of the tree leaves on top of them.

If they drown in silence for fifteen minutes or for one hour, it doesn't matter. Like this, Donghyuck feels safe, and perhaps because Mark is still and calm, he has the sensation that Mark is safe in his arms too. He doesn't even care that, since they're intimately connected, there’s no doubt Mark feels the beating of his heart. That secret in exchange for all of Mark's secrets is just fair.

“You said I had too much faith in you,” Donghyuck says after a while, and Mark shifts into his neck, the tip of his nose accidentally caressing up Donghyuck's neck. The chain of goosebumps that blooms is impossible to hide, but Donghyuck isn't ashamed anymore. “Well, I do. I have faith in you, I always did – my fear of losing you wasn't unfounded. Look at what you’ve achieved. How many people make it in Hollywood? An Asian boy that grew up in Greece trying to break into the industry as something more than a joke or a side character? You couldn’t even speak that much English when you left. I thought it was impossible, but you made it possible.”

Mark tenses up, but it's a fleeting reaction that Donghyuck's caresses subdue right away. He never supported Mark's dreams, for all what implied for _them_ , thus Mark has never had the chance to hear that Donghyuck thought him capable. He doubts it would have made a difference, since Mark's spark was and is so potent that he doesn't need help to shine.

However, Mark's response is, “What if I don't want that anymore?”

A flash of fury strikes Donghyuck, fury filled with hope. Mark doesn't mean that, and giving Donghyuck hope is playing dirty. He won't stay.

“But you do,” Donghyuck contradicts him with an impressive composure. He clenches his hand a few times before stroking through Mark's hair again, hoping he won't notice his pain. Mark doesn’t intend to hurt him, and Donghyuck doesn’t want him to recoil just because of that misstep. “And if you stop wanting that one day, I guess you can just steal Jaemin's job and learn to cook.”

Mark lets out a soft scoff. “It's Jaemin who cooks at the tavern? I thought you could.”

“I can, but- perks of being the boss.”

Mark draws a smile against his neck, and Donghyuck stops breathing for so long that he sees stars in the clear sky. That, Donghyuck realizes, is an honest smile. A gesture that it's only possible to pull out of Mark when he's sober, but that it's almost unattainable in that state.

That’s Donghyuck's small privilege, and it feels immense.

That same evening, Mark and Donghyuck leave the comfort of their solitude to wait for their friends at the port.

There are many changes between them, subtle progress that Donghyuck isn't conscious of until they sit on one of the benches and, in awe, Donghyuck realizes that he's fine with having Mark by his side. Mark's presence might bring an incessant turmoil of questions, but Donghyuck doesn’t have to measure his words and actions anymore, because he trusts Mark, he understands how his sober and his high selves work. Mark won't harm him in any way, neither will Donghyuck, and even if they're not on the exact same page, they share the same book.

Donghyuck's wounds are a different story, though.

Jeno's car shows up right when the sun goes down, an intense orange light bathing the island. The noise of the car is the only reason Donghyuck takes his eyes off Mark, off his small face and the honey glint in his irises when light blinds him. Donghyuck forgot how beautiful the island paints people, especially when you already love them, but Mark is a perfect reminder of it.

Jaemin, Jeno and Renjun land like an earthquake. Donghyuck can hear their laughter even before they open the doors. This time Renjun is on the front seat, legs up on the dashboard. The three of them must have spent some time at the beach, because they all gained some color on their arms and legs, and Jeno has a permanent blush across his cheeks. Renjun looks much better like this – much more like _them_.

At first, none of them notice Donghyuck and Mark on the bench. Donghyuck swallows the urge of breaking their own bubble, since one look at Mark proves that he appreciates this – their noise and the casual jabs they throw around make a subtle smile appear on his lips, and Donghyuck enjoys it himself. For Mark, it must be funny to see two sides of his life colliding and, surprisingly, becoming one piece without trouble.

“Hey!” Jaemin yells at them, using his hand to cast a shadow over his eyes. He hurls a breathtaking grin at them, and Jeno and Renjun snap their heads to glance at them. “What are you two doing there? Did you miss us that much?”

Donghyuck flips him off as a response, and Jaemin dismissively cackles at him. The truth is obvious. The relief expanding within his chest is proof that Donghyuck has missed them more than he was aware of, but Jaemin already knows that, and he’s glad it is that way. Besides, Donghyuck doesn't want Mark to think he's a burden, that Donghyuck will keep escaping from him and back to Jeno and Jaemin. Not anymore.

Renjun bickers with Jeno over who will pull his suitcase out, and both Donghyuck and Mark stand up to join them. The car's wheels are full of dirt and so are their shoes, and on top of that, Renjun is wearing one of Jeno's jumpers, which is pretty suspicious given the amount of clothes he packed for the trip.

“I need a drink,” Renjun announces after successfully carrying his suitcase out. He leans his side against the hood, a hand on his hip, and Donghyuck notices that despite his dark circles, he’s quite content. “I can't believe I survived Jaemin and Jeno singing Mariah Carey for two hours.”

“Be thankful it was two hours only,” Donghyuck says, a tight smile to repress the laugh that brims on the tip of his tongue. “I've seen them be at it for five hours without a stop.”

Jeno makes a noise of approval and closes the trunk, and Renjun dedicates him a dramatic roll of his eyes – that doesn't seem to intimidate Jeno, because he wraps his arm around Renjun's waist and, to Donghyuck's shock, Renjun doesn't bat him away.

“Sick,” Renjun replies, and his gaze wanders from Mark to Donghyuck, back and forth, until he seems to catch a whiff of their mood. Donghyuck has no idea what he perceives, but he sounds satisfied, free of concern, as he demands, “Get me drunk, Lee Donghyuck.”

Perhaps because all of them are tired after the trip, alcohol hits them harder. The five of them settle around one of the tables of the tavern, and Jaemin insists in making some food too, which turns out to be a good idea to lift their spirits.

Donghyuck doesn't miss how Renjun trails after Mark and forces him to sit next to him, and when they leave them alone for a couple of minutes, Donghyuck comes back to Renjun cupping Mark's face and whispering quick questions. Mark repeatedly nods at Renjun’s words, patient, like he’s used to those interrogatories. Donghyuck observes them for a few seconds from the kitchen's double doors, conscious that it’s an intimate moment, that Renjun is making sure Mark feels sane and safe after spending the weekend with Donghyuck. Even if the scene scratches Donghyuck’s pride, even if he wishes he could tell Renjun off and assure him that he would never hurt Mark on purpose, he has to respect Mark and Renjun's friendship. Renjun was there for Mark while Donghyuck wasn’t, and neither of them can change that.

He waits for so long that Jeno catches him hiding behind the doors, but instead of making fun of him, Jeno just giggles and strings their arms together. Mark and Renjun detach from each other as soon as they hear them approaching, and if they notice Donghyuck's fluster or Jeno's amusement, they decide to ignore it.

It's strange for Donghyuck to spend time with the four of them and not have an incessant urge of running away creeping on his skin. After all the time he’s wasted setting a barrier between Mark and him, between the group and him, it soon becomes obvious that he's missed some fun too.

It doesn’t feel like they’re strangers; Jeno and Jaemin behave around Renjun like they would do around Donghyuck and Mark, and that helps Donghyuck relax. Only when they've finished dinner and Renjun is on his third drink, does he start bothering Donghyuck. If his attention was divided between Mark and Jeno a few minutes ago, now he focuses on Donghyuck as if he's never had eyes for anyone else.

Given how close Mark and Renjun are, Donghyuck bets that Renjun knows him like the back of his hand. That doesn't deter Renjun from asking every single basic question and pretending that every answer is a novelty – sometimes his lips curl up and a knowing light shines in his pupils, but Donghyuck isn't disposed to fall into his game. Even if Mark doesn’t acknowledge Renjun’s intentions, Donghyuck knows that he’s paying attention in case any of them cross a line.

“Jeno is going to teach me Greek,” he announces after a while, propping his chin on the palm of his hand. He glances at Jeno, who shrinks in his chair, sheepish, and then adds, “I'm good at learning new tongues.”

Mark lifts an eyebrow at him, gaze budging from Renjun to Jeno in curiosity, and Donghyuck does the same. Perhaps because of the choice of words, Jeno’s shyness sharpens – it’s either that, or the fact that Jaemin leans over the table to take a long peek at his evident embarrassment.

“When did you two decide that?” Jaemin hurls at him in Greek, ignoring the glare Renjun grants him.

Jeno shrugs, “He asked.”

“Dude, he's going to understand us,” Jaemin insists, and Donghyuck has to cover his mouth not to laugh out loud. It's true that he's bad mouthed Renjun a couple of times in Greek, but he won't ever admit it – Renjun looks like the type to hold a grudge, but also the wrong person to mess with. “Just a few key words and we'll be fucked-”

Mark's lips twitch, and Donghyuck trades a meaningful look with him, conscious that both of them understand why Jaemin is worried, and why Jeno isn't worried at all.

“Are you perhaps talking about him when he's around?” Mark asks them, with a serious semblance that it's all façade. He's an expert at that, and Donghyuck has had two whole days to learn the difference between an act and true disapproval. “What could you possibly say to act so secretive about it?”

Considering Jeno's indulging attitude and his docility around Renjun, Donghyuck can imagine what kind of words Jaemin and Jeno are spewing about him. Renjun told Donghyuck that boys on this island are pretty, but he's not aware that the other side of the coin is even worse: they lack boys in general. Renjun is a blow of fresh air, smart and educated and completely foreign to them. He doesn’t resemble the summer tourists. He's _exciting,_ and there's no doubt Jeno is intrigued. Donghyuck wishes he could advise him against that, but his friends never listen.

“You all are so rude,” Renjun interrupts them, ironically saving Jaemin and Jeno from exposing their secrets. “I've been helping Jeno to improve his English, so it's just fair. He's starting to sound like one of those fancy news anchors.”

Donghyuck cackles at that, which gains him a kick under the table. He's not sure if it's Jeno or Renjun who kicks him, because Jeno doesn't even move – his eternal smiling eyes stuck on Renjun – and Renjun is too smart to betray himself.

“You are?” Jaemin sing-songs, leaning into Jeno's space with a teasing smile. He's equally happy and tipsy, and his concern over Renjun learning Greek vanishes within a second. “Show us. I bet it's hot.”

“Oh, it is,” Renjun assures Jaemin, winking at him with such smoothness that even Donghyuck is taken aback for a second.

Jeno groans, “Fuck off. I'm not going on a trip with you two ever again.”

“Next time, choose me,” Donghyuck proposes.

“That's even worse.”

All his friends burst into laughter at Jeno's retort, except Mark, who lowers his head to hide his smile. Even though he makes the effort to salvage Donghyuck's pride, Donghyuck still reaches out to pinch his arm, a little protest to warn him that he shouldn't laugh at deprecating jokes towards him. Mark never took Donghyuck's protests seriously, however, and Donghyuck likes that he doesn't. It wouldn’t be the same if he did.

Sighing in defeat, Donghyuck deflates against his chair and looks around the tavern, the light of the lamps so faint that they're drowning in darkness. He reckons that it's easier to pretend normalcy when he can just turn around and conceal all his emotions, but he doesn't feel the need to do so. Despite Renjun's addition, Donghyuck feels like he's with his three childhood friends and not a single day has passed since high school. He should have imagined that they would bounce back sooner or later.

“How did you even end up with this guy as a manager?” Donghyuck asks Mark, sinking his elbow into Mark's side. Mark unconsciously grasps his arm, but his touch is loose and innocent, the trace of an old knee-jerk reaction. Since Mark pulls a face, Donghyuck leans forward to gaze at Renjun. “Who landed you the job? You're pretty young to manage a Hollywood star.”

Unlike Mark, Renjun shows no reticence. In fact, he grants Donghyuck a cocky look before admitting, “My dad runs the managers' agency Mark is signed to.” He caresses the edge of his glass, a false act to make Donghyuck think he doesn't love the interest, and then continues, “When Mark punched his former manager unconscious, I took over.”

That knocks all the oxygen out of Donghyuck's lungs, and for a long moment, he feels like he's breathing through fire and smoke, through lies and an endless net of untold stories. Even though he doesn't want to look at Mark, not now, his instinct takes that decision for him.

But Mark has his gaze set on Renjun, a neutral expression that is the signature of his repressed anger. Maybe he'd have preferred confessing that himself, but one mere glance at his posture tells Donghyuck that he wasn't disposed to do so. He's defensive, feeling vulnerable, but Renjun knows how to play Mark's games better than Donghyuck. At least when it comes to this Mark.

Donghyuck doesn't judge him, however. He's heard so many details about Mark's former manager these past two days that one punch doesn’t even seem enough punishment. Donghyuck would punch him himself if he had the chance, and considering he was a vital piece in Mark's addiction, whatever occasional reason Mark had to assault him, Donghyuck agrees with him.

“You did what?” Jaemin whispers, quite amazed at the revelation.

Mark shuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“It was a bad day,” he grunts.

“That's what we're calling it now,” Renjun says, laughing. Regardless of how insensitive that remark is, Mark doesn't seem to mind; on the contrary, he relaxes in his own frame and takes a sharp inhale. “Anyway, I was a fan. Note the past tense. So I asked my dad to give me the chance, told him that he could swap me out if I was doing a bad job and I wouldn’t oppose, but turns out I'm pretty good at this shit.”

“It's just that he's not a jerk,” Mark points out. It's quite funny that his first intervention is to defend Renjun, but that just feeds Donghyuck's intrigue. Their relationship is a mystery to Donghyuck, and he's sure that the side of Mark which Renjun understands is the same side Donghyuck can't reach. “Most managers are. But Renjun grew up in the industry thanks to his father, and he kind of expected what he found.”

Renjun scrunches his nose at that, cheeks red from the alcohol and mirth in his eyes. “A lovely boy with wonderful habits.”

To everyone's shock, Mark snorts at that, and then leans all the way onto Renjun's shoulder. Donghyuck blinks at them for a second, his feelings blurred by the trust displayed in front of him. The pang of jealousy stabbing his stomach arrives later, like a little goblin dancing and sticking its tongue out at him, so nonsensical and useless that Donghyuck suffers a bad case of frustration.

Mark isn't his. And even if he's not comfortable with that level of physical contact with Donghyuck yet, today Mark has touched him, has allowed Donghyuck to wrap his arms around him. He's gifted him a faith that not even Jeno and Jaemin seem to have earned yet. But maybe it's because habits hardly die, and Mark has explored Donghyuck in many aspects, as deeply as he wanted to. Skin against skin is their language. Donghyuck can still sense the tingling of Mark's nose over his neck, the hot breath that kept him warm hours ago. It feels cold now in comparison.

Jealousy shouldn't rear its ugly head now; not towards Renjun. Mark doesn't owe Donghyuck loyalty.

“He used to be very lovely, actually,” Jaemin remarks, and then laughs at Renjun's skeptical expression. “But Donghyuck here corrupted him when he had the chance, and from then on it was downhill.”

It takes Donghyuck a moment to understand that the attention has diverted to him, four pair of eyes trained on him, waiting for his response as if he’s supposed to throw a tantrum. It's immensely hard for him to dismiss the jealousy devouring him and compose a whole sentence.

“I didn't corrupt anyone.” Donghyuck points at Mark with his chin and adds, “He was dying to have a taste of corruption.”

“Sounds like a teenager, indeed,” Renjun agrees, wrapping his arm around Mark's shoulders. Mark grumbles a couple of words, but it's so deep and ominous that only Renjun understands him. “Good thing he's back here to remember what healthy corruption felt like.”

When Renjun turns his head to glance at Jeno, Donghyuck knows that this is the end of the conversation.

Silence is tempting for Donghyuck, but so is Mark. While their friends slide into a discussion over if they should go on a trip all of them together next time, Donghyuck's gaze travels to Mark without remedy. Mark is already looking at him, even though he's pressed against Renjun and his world is universes away from Donghyuck's.

After spending the whole weekend with Mark, Donghyuck should be immune. He should feel numb at the subtle smile Mark draws for him, only for him, or the ephemeral, raw happiness that reaches his eyes. He should have learned his lesson by now. No matter how pretty and enchanting Mark is, or even if he's the only person in the world that can make Donghyuck feel alive, he won’t crack under Donghyuck’s wishes.

But that's Donghyuck's problem: he can't be immune to a disease he never fully suffered, and Mark's happiness is worth anything Donghyuck has to sacrifice, even himself.

By the time spring rolls around in full force, Donghyuck's life has changed.

It's not a drastic change, but one full of Mark. Despite Donghyuck's protests and the wound in his pride, Mark starts helping them at the tavern, claiming that he doesn't have any other pastime and the amount of free time is fulminating his spirit. It's quite dramatic, but Donghyuck reckons that five years in Hollywood might have taught Mark just that.

Donghyuck allows him in just because, if Mark is working at the tavern, he's not harming himself or wasting his money on drinks. Maybe there are other reasons, but they're safely tucked inside Donghyuck.

Even though Donghyuck never asks about Mark's recovery program, his progress is quite blunt. There are still awful days, days when Mark stays in their private bathroom for hours because nausea takes over and he can't even stand. Some days Donghyuck has to rub his back while he vomits, and other days the only sign of weakness is a subtle trembling in his hands. Days when Mark cries and kicks him out because he doesn't want Donghyuck to see him in that state, even if he's already witnessed every single speck of his misery, even if Donghyuck doesn't think less of him because of that.

Given that Mark is often not presentable, Jaemin decides to teach him to cook. All of the recipes are from Donghyuck's parents, and he's better than Jaemin since he grew up mimicking those techniques his whole life – he joined his parents' business when he was only eleven – but he's sure that, on the bad days, Mark needs to breathe his own air. Donghyuck makes an effort to not obsessively check on him, since Mark isn't a kid, since he has a whole net of people to pull him through recovery and Donghyuck's role is limited to being his friend.

Mark slipping into the tavern isn't the most shocking news: given that Mark occupies his time working at the tavern, Renjun finds himself sticking to Jeno at all times. When they pay them a visit, they sit at the tiny table stuck in the corner and talk for hours, and Donghyuck never misses the opportunity of sending them judging glances when they laugh at each other's bad jokes or play with their hands under the table. Jeno doesn't mind, but Renjun always has a retort to fire at Donghyuck.

However, Renjun can't dodge the teasing when they find out that, during his free time, he actually accompanies Jeno to paint houses.

“You get yourself all dirty?” Donghyuck asks him over the countertop, leaning his weight on the surface, and then forms a terrible smirk for Renjun. Renjun presses his hand against his cheek and shoves him away, but that has never stopped Donghyuck before, and he's developing a strong liking for torturing Renjun. “ _You_? I don't believe that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Renjun complains. He gazes at Jeno as if to find the answer in him, and Donghyuck observes them in utter interest. “It's just paint.”

Donghyuck draws away, satisfaction all over his face. That's the exact response he was looking for, proof that Renjun is so deep into the island's life that he doesn't see anything wrong in joining Jeno’s activities. That’s what they do: help each other without waiting for compensation, not asking questions, prioritize their friends over themselves. Donghyuck has noticed that his manners have changed too – his clothes, even, and he rarely wears anymore all those fancy shoes he owns.

“Yes, and you're a nitpicky bitch that wanted me to renovate the tavern just because it's old,” Donghyuck reminds him. “Jeno, invite us over one day. I need to see Renjun covered in shit.”

Renjun lets out a puff of air between his lips, disregarding Donghyuck's accusations. The positive side is that Jeno laughs at them and nods, and that seems to put out Renjun's fire.

“Why don't we paint the tavern?” Jaemin proposes then, showing up behind Donghyuck out of the blue. He has a rag in his hand and a mug in the other, and Donghyuck would send him back into the kitchen if it wasn't because he's on his side. “All of us? We just need Jeno to buy the cans.”

Donghyuck wants to turn down that idea, but a quick glance around the tavern tints his cheeks pink. There are many reasons he hasn't touched the tavern since his mom died, but the need of clinging onto the immutability of a place isn't doing his business any favors. The dents in the walls hint both at his stubbornness and his irresponsibility.

“That would be great!” Jeno agrees before Donghyuck can open his mouth. His enthusiasm is lethal: no one can say no to Jeno, and Donghyuck isn't an exception. “Pick a color, Hyuck.”

“Pink,” Renjun says, eyeing Donghyuck just to see if it bothers him.

And Jaemin interrupts with a loud, “Red.”

The first brick has been settled on the ground, so it's too late for Donghyuck to argue against the idea. Those are terrible colors for a traditional tavern, however. His parents would come out of their tombs just to scold Donghyuck.

“I'd go crazy.” Donghyuck lets out a groan, but this time he considers his options. Since he's grown up besides Jeno, he knows that there's a wide variety to choose from; Jeno only has to mix certain colors to get new ones, and he loves those experiments. It’s his own little game. “Let's go with something... calmer. Do you remember that soft violet I liked?”

Jeno perks up at that. “You mean pale lavender?”

It's exactly that, and Donghyuck feels a bit warm inside at how fast Jeno remembers. Donghyuck mentioned that just once, years ago, but it stuck with Jeno because he _listens_ to him.

“I like lavender,” Renjun accepts with a sigh. He doesn't even spare Donghyuck a glance, though, too entranced with the excitement that colors Jeno. “It fits Skopelos too.”

That's true, and Donghyuck can't help but be surprised at the fact that it comes from Renjun. Skopelos is colorful, but all their colors are natural and essential. There's white in their homes and in the sky, blue in the sea, and green and brown in their forests. The spring has brought red, yellow and purple as well. Pale lavender will fit just right in, and if Donghyuck is lucky, it will make Mark and him feel less dark.  
  


That fickle, sudden idea puts the world upside down.

That same night, Jaemin and Jeno move all the tables and chairs aside to decide how much paint they need to cover the whole tavern. Even when it’s closing time, they try to persuade Donghyuck into painting the outside of the tavern too, but Donghyuck isn’t disposed to accept that. Mark says lavender is a good choice, but for a few minutes his intermittent glances trail after Donghyuck, worried, as though he can sense his doubts.

If Mark believes it to be a sign of progress, Donghyuck won’t ruin that illusion for him. He hasn’t taken a single step in five years, and ceding to change a permanent element in his life means that Mark’s presence has influenced him. If he accepted Mark into his life again, painting the tavern shouldn’t scare him.

But it does. Whether they’re right or wrong, both decisions terrify him.

The next day Renjun shows up with a huge marker, announces that Jeno sent him, and starts drawing lines everywhere, tracing the limits between the built-in columns and the walls. Jaemin observes him the whole time, thoroughly amused at how Jeno has turned Renjun into his pawn, while Mark just rolls his eyes and gets back to work. Donghyuck stays in the kitchen with him, since he doesn’t trust Mark around fire and food yet, and Mark follows his orders without a single protest.

Donghyuck closes the door on purpose, even though the customers are making so much noise that no word would reach Jaemin’s ears, and says, “I haven’t seen Jeno that whipped in- ever, I think.”

It could be a problem, but Donghyuck bites down on his tongue not to say that. From the very first moment he encountered Renjun – young, pretty, shameless – Donghyuck feared that one of his friends would develop a connection with him. Hooking up was a harmless ground. Jeno could do that without trouble. But that’s the problem now: for some reason, Jeno and Renjun are taking it slow, sometimes pretending that they don’t like each other regardless of their transparency, sometimes being so honest about their intentions that it’s sickeningly sweet.

It would be less concerning if they had jumped right into it, but they seem to _care_ , and that frightens Donghyuck. None of them need another heartbreak.

“Renjun is annoying me too,” Mark tells him, back turned to him. He’s cutting a bunch of onions with such concentration that it’s strange, yet Donghyuck thinks it’s endearing. “But I had a hunch something like this would happen.”

Donghyuck slides next to him, lazily dragging his feet over the floor, and crosses his arms over his chest. Since they don’t have any other order apart from the one Mark is preparing, he doesn’t offer his help. Mark barely responds to their closeness, so Donghyuck closes the distance until Mark staggers, hands stilling around the knife.

“How so?” Donghyuck asks him, a subtle tone of demand in his words.

“You guys are pure in a way Hollywood boys could never be.” Mark doesn’t hesitate, so certain of that truth that Donghyuck is left speechless. It’s not a mere opinion, but a statement; Mark knows Hollywood and knows Skopelos, and only Mark could perceive such difference. “Renjun doesn’t have to worry about Jeno using him for his money or for sex. To Renjun, he’s different. A boy that paints houses even though he knows enough color theory to be an artist, or a boy that is incredibly handsome but won’t use his body to get money. _We_ don’t have to be alert around the three of you.”

Donghyuck studies Mark’s semblance, but there’s no trace of emotions there. This morning, his dose must have been loaded, but just not enough to cancel out his reasoning.

“Liking someone just because they’re a nice person doesn’t sound very romantic,” Donghyuck points out. It’s too simple. Small. Donghyuck’s love feels big and complicated, and he can’t understand it any other way.

That’s what disengages Mark from his own bubble at last. He halts the knife right into the middle of a cut and lifts his gaze, collides against Donghyuck’s hesitant eyes.

“Really? I think it’s the most important thing,” Mark contradicts him. “Everyone should be regularly trying to be a better person.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.” Mark scoffs, and Donghyuck belatedly realizes that it’s an absurd question. His childhood friend abandoned his new life all at once in an attempt to save himself from his mistakes, to be better, to remember who he was – Mark had that purity too, once upon a time. “You can’t imagine what people are like out there. Here, everyone knows everyone. We have problems, we have enemies, families that don’t like each other, but people are afraid of going too far. Back there, people can ruin your life and run away, and they don’t have to face any consequences.”

The movement of Mark’s hands draws him in, the slight tremor as he holds the knife with too much strength. The next cut is quite messy, and Donghyuck covers Mark’s hand by instinct to stop him; then they begin once again, Donghyuck accompanying every new slice and feeling Mark’s veins under his palm.

“Cut it thinner,” Donghyuck whispers, even if it’s not necessary anymore. “Do you think that’s the reason we’re _softer_? Because we know we’d have to face consequences?”

Mark only takes a moment to answer. “Are you naturally nice, Hyuck?” He’s not. He’s thorny and explosive, and most of the time he has to swallow his emotions not to hurt others. With his friends sincerity is a given, but his relationship with the townsfolk is measured in scales of politeness and lies. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t punch half of the guys we went to school with.”

Donghyuck grumbles at that accusation, but he doesn’t have the arguments to disregard that.

“Fine,” he admits, stepping back to glare at Mark with ease. It’s oddly relieving that Mark knows him so well, even now, and that’s what smoothens his tone. “Don’t rub it in my face.”

Mark tilts his head to the side, though he doesn’t meet Donghyuck’s eyes. Rather than teasing him, he’s calculating where he stands in this exchange, how far he can go without trespassing Donghyuck’s limits.

“I earned that, though,” Mark concludes, a cocky smile tugging his lips up. “You have me here doing free labor, first cooking and I’ll soon be painting too.”

Donghyuck flicks Mark's arm to scold him, but he allows himself a smile too. Mark is working for him, and it's quite hilarious given how much money he owns now – and even more because it's Mark who wishes to stay. Even when he should be in bed, resting, or entertaining himself, he chooses his friends. He chooses Donghyuck, overall, and they silently agree to not mull over those decisions. It feels like it’s the right thing.

“Look at you being useful for once,” Donghyuck jabs at him, and Mark hums a small laugh, playing along.

It doesn't matter if Donghyuck needs Mark for tonight's plans or not: he's going to help, because among the five of them, only Mark understands how it feels to be away from your family, and Donghyuck is letting go of his fear of losing their memory tonight.

Before the sun sets, they close the tavern and cover the floor and the furniture with newspapers. Everyone except Donghyuck goes back home to change clothes, since Jeno advises them to put on some clothes that they don't have much fondness for, and Donghyuck uses that time to clean the kitchen. When his friends step into the tavern again, they're carrying heavy paint cans, and Donghyuck realizes they passed by Jeno's house to pick up the material. Jeno is wearing his uniform, and Renjun trails after him with a smaller version of his clothes that Donghyuck has no absolute idea where he got from – maybe it's the uniform Jeno had when he was younger, which would explain why Renjun's frame is still swallowed under the fabric.

Judging the attempt at remaining serious when Mark catches sight of them, it's as funny as Donghyuck thought.

“Okay, I'll teach you how to do it first,” Jeno announces once they've settled down.

They sit in half a circle to watch the demonstration, and Renjun leans his body over one of the cans, smiling up at Jeno. Donghyuck reaches out to pinch his thigh, and when they start bickering and their arms entangle, Jeno shamelessly glowers at them.

“You can't just move the brush in any direction. It has to go up and down, but don't overpaint the same zone and don't lift the brush.” Jeno turns around, brush in hand but no paint in it, and maneuvers with a firm, fast movement. Donghyuck is sure his tavern will be coated in irregular traces in a matter of minutes, but he doesn't care anymore. “I'll do the- you know, complicated parts.”

Donghyuck nods. He wouldn't be surprised if Jeno had to do another round alone tomorrow, but his friends are swimming in excitement and Donghyuck won’t spoil the fun. Even Mark is buzzing with an unusual energy, except for the constant whispered questions to Donghyuck; his eagerness is interlaced with concern, but that's Donghyuck's fault. His doubts flower every time he studies the tavern, and Mark subdues them with a mere glance, caging his hand between their legs and discreetly stroking the side of Donghyuck's thigh.

“Okay, now,” Jaemin says, clasping his hands together. He crawls over the newspapers to grab one of the brushes and slides it towards Donghyuck. “Inaugurate the party.”

It's an unspoken rule that Donghyuck must be the first one to break that barrier. It's not about regret, and if it was, he wouldn't resent any of his friends for it, but this belongs to Donghyuck. This place is part of Jeno, Jaemin and Mark's childhood as well, and their role is important, yet they have no right to intervene beyond that.

“I knew you were going to be this dramatic,” Donghyuck protests as he scrambles up, but he has to control the knot of anxiety that extends its branches through his stomach.

As it usually happens with big occasions, they turn out to be very small. When Donghyuck dips the brush and straightens up to face the wall, the distance between the wall and him seems immense. He feels incapable. Useless. A kid that accidentally let go of his mother's hand and lost himself in the crowd. There are four pairs of eyes ruffling his nape, and still, he turns that wait into an eternity.

But then he presses the brush against the wall, the soft lavender gently licking over the old paint, and all his fears evaporate. Nothing happens, apart from the birth of a solitary stripe on the wall; his parents are still alive inside his well of memories, and Donghyuck doesn't feel guilty for touching what they created.

Before Donghyuck can turn around and give his friends permission, they're spreading around the tavern, joking and groaning about how heavy the cans are as they pull them over the floor. Donghyuck fixes his stare ahead, his insides tingling and a smile threatening to invade his face, and only reacts when he catches a glimpse of Mark next to him.

Mark is aware that it's a private moment for Donghyuck: that's the reason he just works without glancing at him, the reason he waits for Renjun to tune into the radio so that his voice can't be heard. _Love Shack_ fills the little silence left, and Donghyuck braces himself for whatever Mark has to tell him.

To his shock, Mark just mumbles an innocuous, “You good?”

Donghyuck is too relieved to compose an answer at first. He's good. Even better now that Mark is keeping him company, but that's also a sign of debility. Depending on Mark has always been dangerous, and he can't afford that again.

“Yes,” Donghyuck mutters, and then he purposely slides sideways to elbow Mark. Mark responds by tapping his ankle with his foot, so Donghyuck protests, “Go to another zone, we'll clash.”

“Nope.” Mark snorts, so low and honest that Donghyuck believes it's a figment of his imagination. “That way when we meet you'll see how much better mine are.”

The joke catches Donghyuck off guard, and that pushes his reaction to be visceral: he snaps his head to frown at Mark, mouth opening and closing in frustration, just to have his world swamped by the smile on Mark's face. Donghyuck wants to paint his whole face lavender just to erase that smile, to erase the thrill that trespasses his insides, his skin, and wraps itself around Donghyuck.

Perhaps it's reciprocal, a mutual game. Donghyuck likes making Mark smile. His traces of happiness are as contagious as they are rare, and Mark might find that same predicament in Donghyuck.

If that's all it takes for Mark to be happier, however, then Donghyuck can do better.

It's almost midnight when they finish, and lavender is so carved in Donghyuck's mind that it's all he sees when he closes his eyes.

All of them are tired and covered in paint, and they make sure to have dinner despite how many stains they leave on the table they choose. Renjun plays to make paint angels on the newspapers, which proves to be quite difficult, and that leads Jaemin to roll him up in paper just to frustrate his attempts. Jeno assures Donghyuck that they should clean tomorrow, once they've rested and are clean themselves, otherwise they will just make a bigger mess.

Donghyuck needs some peace after spending the whole day with them, so he tucks into himself and detaches from their talk for the rest of the night. Jaemin leaves a kiss on his head when they decide to leave, while Jeno runs back and forth to move the cans into the warehouse.

Mark, however, doesn't budge an inch. He stays perched on his chair, staring at the table with glassy eyes, as though he's navigating in a different world. He might be, even though the effect of his drugs filtered out hours ago. Donghyuck doesn't usher him to follow Renjun and leave, and anyhow, Mark's determination saves him from Donghyuck's clutches.

Donghyuck doesn’t break the silence until he’s sure that their friends are far away, that they won’t return and interrupt them.

But when he does, Donghyuck asks the only question that matters, “Why?”

The power in Mark's eyes is equally overwhelming and stunning. He stands up, no apparent nervousness, and offers Donghyuck his hand. Donghyuck takes it. It's full of paint, but it's warm and welcoming, and Donghyuck desperately clutches onto him while Mark guides him through the tavern.

It's impossible to figure out Mark's intentions beforehand. It has always been. But as soon as he positions their hands and wraps his hand around Donghyuck's thumb, he has a hunch. The paint is still fresh in this zone of the tavern, and he observes Mark, expectant, before breathing out a weak, “Okay.”

Mark holds his hand against the wall, the cold liquid bathing Donghyuck's palm and mixing it with the traces of dried up paint. It's stupid that Donghyuck’s heart accelerates, that his whole body pulses against the paint, but there's an unexplainable thrill in ruining what they've been working for all evening.

Donghyuck feels like laughing, an urge that is almost uncontrollable when he withdraws and recognizes the print of his hand on the wall. The place isn't perfect anymore: that tiny flaw resembles the previous tavern, and that's enough. That's all Donghyuck needed.

“It was too boring,” Mark tells him with a shrug. But he's content, shining eyes appreciating the print on the wall until they swerve to Donghyuck, full of unmasked fondness. “Now it's more like- you.”

And he's right about that too.

Donghyuck casts his attention to the floor for a second, thoughts spinning and braiding around his dangerous wishes. It might be his vulnerability that fulminates his pride, but he wants to be with Mark tonight. It's not a matter of feeling lonely; he could have asked Jaemin to sleep with him. But Donghyuck's feelings are glued to Mark, and his new emotional whim takes over.

“Want to come home?” Donghyuck mutters, blinking at the afterimage of Mark in his vision.

The shock that strikes across Mark's face is beyond satisfying. He's conscious that entering Donghyuck's house again is a big step for the both of them; inevitable, but big. Donghyuck has been so adamant that maybe Mark came to the conclusion that it would never happen, and before tonight, he might have been right.

Mark sighs a hopeful, “Are you sure?”

He's not. But if tomorrow Dongyuck hates himself for it, at least he'll live with the certainty that it made Mark a bit happier. It's not about Donghyuck's losses anymore, and that should be terrifying, but the anticipation in Mark's eyes takes the final decision.

“I wouldn't ask if I wasn't,” Donghyuck says, hand drenched in shades of violet and cheeks covered in shades of blood.

And Mark's response is immediate, sharp and desperate, “Then yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he wakes up wrapped over Jaemin out of habit, head dipping into the crook of his neck and a leg over him, Jaemin doesn't point out that he knows the reason. It takes twenty-one days to form a habit, and Mark’s body is his new habit, one that Donghyuck can’t get rid of even when he’s not there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god guys i accidentally forgot to update last week! i skipped one whole week and now ended up updating so late

The walk back home is silent, but the noise of Donghyuck’s heart when Mark holds his hand is deafening.

It's not a romantic gesture, just a desperate call for support. As they walk through the musk of the streets, Mark's anxiety thickens until it's palpable in the atmosphere, and his clutch on Donghyuck is that inevitable consequence.

Donghyuck doubts Mark has walked this path many times since he arrived at Skopelos. They're the two sides of the same coin, and Mark's acts reflect their evident secrets: he’s as scared of Donghyuck’s home as he was of Mark’s memories.

Perhaps Mark never meant to elude him in particular, but Donghyuck's house is a whole different story. Every corner is painted with memories of their childhood, with their first kiss, with the first time they looked into each other's eyes and realized that the spark between them was worth holding onto. With Mark crying on his lap because _yes, he liked boys_ , but he didn't want to like boys. With seven-year-old Mark sitting on the couch, wearing a big black suit that was too big for his frame, looking at the floor after the funeral of Donghyuck's dad and holding his hand.

Those memories have been impossible to dodge for Donghyuck; he’s used to living with them, but Mark ran away from all that and lost the right to set foot into their lives, even if once upon a time it was his life too. It's such an intimate space that Donghyuck never intended to allow him in again, and for a while Donghyuck thought they would keep that breach between them, intact, no matter what.

He had forgotten that Mark was his weakness, that just like he had given into his kisses and his touch – into the pretense of having him as his first love, despite the certain, unalterable outcome – Mark could break his will again without much effort.

Breaking that promise of self-protection grazes dangerous territories, and as they halt in the entrance, Donghyuck has to repeat a thousand times that his parents had taught him forgiveness. They loved Mark like he was their child too, and they would have wanted Donghyuck to forgive him. They would have welcomed him into their house after five years and breaking their son’s heart.

Donghyuck respects Mark's silence, but not the barrier he forges once they arrive at home. Leaning back on the wood door, Donghyuck studies every inch of Mark's face without fear. Mark stares back at him with a hint of defiance that isn't truly directed at Donghyuck, just at himself.

Donghyuck fishes out the keys from his pocket and fists them against his abdomen. Mark follows his hands instead of his eyes, however, distracted by the countdown he's under. It must be impossible for Mark to focus on him when he's about to barge into his personal hell, but Donghyuck wants to bring him back, not drive a bruised man to collapse within his four walls.

“Are you going to stay the night?” Donghyuck whispers, trying to repress the timidity that creeps onto him.

He knows what the question will evoke in Mark, and even if it's his only chance at deflecting Mark's agony, it affects him too. Mark's pupils shake when their gazes clash again, fluttery and brutally honest for a second. If Renjun expects him back tonight, Mark will defy the rules regardless.

“If you let me,” Mark admits, as though it's a wish so buried deep within that they shouldn't speak about it. That's what they used to do back then; they were never free to kiss in the middle of the street, stuck in closed rooms and private spaces, and regardless of how free Mark has been in Hollywood, the habit of hiding is still engraved on him. “I'll take the couch.”

Donghyuck's heart flips at that. Mark might not be the most sensible version of himself now, but he knows Donghyuck well enough. Proposing to take his parents' bedroom is out of the question. Donghyuck hasn't redecorated a single detail of the house, and no man could erase that immutability; Mark wouldn’t push his limits, not when it comes to mourning.

He’s aware that for him, it's either the couch or Donghyuck's bed, and he looks afraid of the latter.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Donghyuck mutters, turning around so that Mark doesn't catch his reaction. He slips the key into the lock, suffocating his nervousness against the door, and lets the charged air from inside hit him. “Unless it's something you can't take, we can share the bed. I won't bite you while you sleep.”

There's no sign of agreement, but Donghyuck doesn't need it. Even after five years, sometimes he feels that Mark's wishes are so clear that he could cut through them with a knife; the rest of the time it just feels like he never got to know Mark at all.

When Donghyuck pads inside and spins around to face Mark, he's not ready for the look on his face. Mark stands under the door frame, staring past Donghyuck, terror on his expression as though he's trapped in a nightmare. Donghyuck has the strange urge of looking back. Blood has drawn away from his cheeks, a paleness so sudden that it sets off Donghyuck's alarms.

Donghyuck isn't sure whether touching Mark is a mistake or not, but it's his only weapon against the burst of panic. He steps forward, invading Mark's space until his gaze travels to Donghyuck's face; his lips are parted, his breathing is accelerated, and when Donghyuck grabs the edges of his jacket, Mark loses his balance almost imperceptibly, swaying back and forth.

“Let me get your jacket,” Donghyuck tells him, voice so mellow that he surprises himself. No one has ever taught him to handle fragility, but neither Mark nor he would appreciate that; they've always been a bit crude to each other, and Mark wouldn't want him any other way. “Do you need a house tour?”

The subtle joke absorbs Mark's attention at last. There are no smiles, no sudden relaxation or a magical stunt that can wipe out Mark's fears, and that's fine. Mark stares at Donghyuck like he yearns to hold onto him and use him as a lifesaver for the rest of their lives, and his chest trembles as Donghyuck rolls his jacket off his shoulders.

Donghyuck doesn't look away, not even when he tugs at Mark's sleeves and Mark's fingers curl up into his palm, a miserable attempt at touching him back. He folds Mark's jacket between them, and then closes his eyes, a smile inevitably making its way on his face. All this is insane, from beginning to end, and Mark has to learn to hold himself up without help.

“I'll go upstairs,” Donghyuck announces, and only then does he realize they didn't even turn on the lights. He can still make out the seed of doubt that branches over Mark's expression. Mark wants him to stay, but he has too much pride to beg, and it wouldn't do any of them good. “I have to take a shower, okay? You can come up whenever you want.”

Donghyuck withdraws without waiting for the response, and then slides up the stairs, gaze fixed ahead to ignore the trembling in his legs. Even if it's his house, Mark needs privacy too, and Donghyuck isn't strong enough to walk through the memories with him.

Since he still has some traces of paint in his body, he uses that as a personal excuse to take a long time in the shower, rocked by the noise of the water and the fog filling the bathroom.

The first difference Donghyuck notices while he dresses up is that, unlike Jaemin and Jeno, Mark's presence in the house is incredibly noticeable. He hears the stairs creak under his weight, hears his steps through the house, and Donghyuck is so attuned to the noises of his home that he knows that Mark ignores his parents' bedroom, but that he climbs into the attic and stays there for a long time.

Donghyuck isn't surprised to find Mark inside his bedroom once he gets out of the shower; he’s given him enough time to investigate and compose himself. He's lying face down on the bed, elbows supporting his body and back arched, and under his chest, there's an old photo album open in the middle.

Donghyuck recognizes which one it is right away; it's mostly pictures of them when they were kids. Jaemin, Jeno, Mark and he grew up as one family, and their parents loved taking pictures of the quartet at all times. Only Mark's family had a decent camera back then, but Donghyuck's parents had bought their first camera with all the excitement in the world, eager to take pictures of their son.

It makes Donghyuck smile, even though it should hurt. From this angle, he can distinguish Mark's subtle smile too, pressed against his palm.

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck whispers, his bare feet leaving wet prints on the floor. Mark doesn't turn to look at him, not even when Donghyuck climbs onto the bed with him. Tonight, Donghyuck doesn't leave a space between them: he lies next to Mark, their hips warm against each other, and reproaches, “You're awful.”

But it doesn't matter if Mark's idea to reminisce the past was good or not. That tiny smile is still hanging off his lips as he stares at a picture of the four of them at the port, and that justifies any pain Donghyuck could feel tonight. In the picture, Jeno's arm is around his shoulders, and Mark is clinging to Jaemin, both of them laughing into a half-hug, the bright ocean behind them. They couldn't be older than six and, Donghyuck realizes, they couldn't have been happier either.

“You shouldn't keep those in the attic,” Mark tells him, and against all odds, he glances at him to make sure Donghyuck is listening to him. Donghyuck returns the look, extinguishing his joy just so that Mark doesn't win the war he's about to start. “They're not meant to be hidden.”

Their memories are merry and valuable, and just because they're gone, they shouldn't become a bitter spice on Donghyuck's tongue. Donghyuck doesn't want them to turn into the reason of his anguish and his incapability to move on, and overall, he's afraid of how easily Mark intuited his unhealthy coping tactics.

“I'm not trying to hide them,” Donghyuck lies. It's a useless attempt to convince him, so he digs his elbow into Mark's side and adds, “Jeno was so cute.”

That manages to distract Mark, but not for long. He gazes between the album and Donghyuck, his lower lip caught under his teeth as he represses his laughter. Donghyuck yearns to hear him laugh, he yearns to be the one to shatter that last barrier – Mark laughs at jokes and meaningless comments, but most of them are suffocated smiles, and since he came back, he's never laughed at his friends or himself. When he was a teenager, Mark used to laugh at the whole world, scorched fire in his eyes and lips lighting up his surroundings.

Donghyuck misses him.

“Not only Jeno,” Mark admits then, caressing the edge of the page with his index finger.

Donghyuck's semblance breaks into a smile, and it feels so strange, so satisfying that he doesn't remember the last time he felt so full.

Dodging the insinuation, Donghyuck leans into Mark's space and teases him, “Jaemin too?”

Mark moves to adjust against him, his cheek falling on Donghyuck's head. The sigh that escapes between his lips is the most revealing confession Mark could give him: the permanent comfort of touching each other, just a little, the pretension of being together even if they can't.

Mark said he couldn't feel anything, but now Donghyuck knows that sometimes, Mark feels so much that he becomes numb, inanimate. That's the reason these small details are safe: because Donghyuck grants him a piece of a feeling, and Mark can experience it whole without falling hostage of his own head.

Without a word, Mark seals the photo album. He shoves it forward, under the pillow, and his hand caresses over the sheets until it reaches Donghyuck's hand. They don't intertwine their fingers. Mark is only asking for an anchor, a touch, and rubbing against the back of Donghyuck's hand is enough.

Mark draws perfect circles on his skin, eyes scrutinizing Donghyuck's face with an unexplainable interest, and points out, “The whole house smells like you.”

Surprise drills into Donghyuck's skin, but for once it's not an unpleasant feeling. No one has ever told him that. He doesn't know what his house smelt like before, before it transformed into an extension of him and only him. Maybe Mark is insinuating that he's lonely, that no matter if Jaemin or Jeno sleep over from time to time, he needs to open the doors and let more people inside.

“That sounds like an insult,” Donghyuck grumpily grumbles, but his lips contort into a pout. Mark tilts his head in curiosity, gaze fixing on Donghyuck's mouth without shame, but with innocence. “Is it?”

Mark doesn't answer, not at first, but one of his eyebrows hoists in amusement.

“Your call,” he answers, not bothered by the prospect of an argument. Perhaps because arguing has never deterred them from being together, Mark isn't scared of that. “Can you lend me some clothes to sleep? Wouldn't want to ruin your bed.”

That knocks Donghyuck into reality, and before Mark can entangle him into a new game of insinuations, he rolls out of bed.

His hair is still wet, and even though the temperature is low yet bearable, he looks for a small towel to rub off the last drops of water. While Donghyuck rummages for comfortable clothes that fit Mark, he slides to the edge of the bed and stays there, observant. It feels reassuring to have him there, Donghyuck notices, even if Mark's presence wracks his nerves and forces him to stay in tune with the world. Maybe that's the positive side of all this: when Mark is with him, Donghyuck can't just look away and recoil into his own dark corner.

“Is this fine?” Donghyuck asks, throwing the clothes on the bed. They're just old, baggy pants and a thick hoodie that will protect Mark when the temperature drops tonight, but Donghyuck doesn't have many pajamas, and given Mark's weight, most of Donghyuck's clothes will be too big for him now. Mark eyes the clothes with caution and then stares at Donghyuck, just in time for him to say, “I'm sorry I don't have anything fancier for Mister Hollywood.”

To Donghyuck's shock, Mark dissolves into a scoff, his apparent calm dissolving in the tension between them. It's a sort of tension that tastes delicious, that feels like old times, and Donghyuck doesn't wish to dispel it yet.

“You're so obsessed with my career,” Mark retorts, but the mirth crossing his expression doesn't disappear. They look at each other for a moment, they drink from each other's unspoken words, those questions that Donghyuck doesn't have to ask for Mark to understand. As soon as Donghyuck takes a step back, towards the door, Mark shoots him a firm, “You can stay.”

It's a trap. It has to be.

Donghyuck digs for a hint of vacillation on Mark's semblance, but Mark raises his chin and extends his shoulders instead of shrinking under his scrutiny. Accepting is a dilemma, a choice that might make Donghyuck feel like he has to pay Mark back with a pinch of his own boundaries.

Or perhaps this is how Mark shows gratitude after Donghyuck has opened his house tonight. Trust for trust, whether they're ready or not, so they can remain on the same level of vulnerability. It’s either a fatal mistake or a vital step, and regardless of Donghyuck’s first instinct – leap into it and claw from inside so that Mark can’t escape – he needs proof that he’s not unconsciously pressuring Mark into something he would despise.

“You didn't want me to see you,” Donghyuck reminds him. He represses the small tone of disapproval, Mark is too smart to miss it.

Mark uncurls his arm, and without hesitation, Donghyuck presses their palms together and allows Mark to yank him closer. The closeness sucks out all the oxygen from Donghyuck, and all of a sudden he's attached to Mark, his hands twined in the hem of his shirt and Mark's defiant gaze boring into him.

“But you wanted to,” Mark retorts, not disposed to cower. Tonight, Donghyuck's wishes seem to be enough for him. His compliance might be dangerous, but it’s also an irresistible gift that Donghyuck can't reject. “So do it yourself.”

Donghyuck shuts his eyes, a fuzzy tingling in his guts and the certainty of pain shaking him. Mark deals with his body every day, and he's made sure to keep it hidden from him – from all his friends. It's his shame, the reflection of his debility, and though that's not who he wishes to be, those scars are carved on him. Mark will never be able to forgive himself if people who love him refuse to acknowledge his mistakes.

A long-life commitment, Renjun had called it, that is bound to be equally long for Donghyuck now.

At Donghyuck's vacillation, Mark begins, “If you've changed your mind-”

There's no time for Mark to complete that accusation: Donghyuck forces himself to push Mark's shirt up, and once his abdomen is exposed, it's easy to finish the task. The complexity lies elsewhere, in Donghyuck's efforts to look into Mark's eyes instead of desperately scanning his body, in hiding the nervousness that sweeps both of them, in assuring that he’s not afraid of Mark’s scars. Donghyuck has permission to explore all of him, but he doesn't want Mark to assume that's all he ever cared about. He doesn't want this to be a game of power and emotional blackmail.

When Donghyuck gathers the courage to glance at his arms, the universe collapses on him in a split second.

Mark was right. Donghyuck is a town boy that hasn't experienced an ounce of the real world, that can't imagine what Mark's life was like even if he exposes every detail of it. Sometimes one needs to see to understand, and now is when Donghyuck understands the horror and the fear that resides behind Mark's pupils, the hesitation and the anger, and still that need to be loved.

Over the expanse of Mark's arms, there are a hundred of small notches. Most of them are red, but not infected; they are recent and clean, and given their state, they're undoubtedly from his doctor.

The disturbing spots are quite different, quite telling, and a mere glance is enough to justify why Mark covers his arms. His scars are small, but they're brutal: they form groups in his wrists and the wrinkle of his elbow.

If Mark had injected himself with some sort of normalcy, they would have disappeared over time. But he stabbed himself so many times in the same spots that they became wounds. It was that desperation, his own havoc that left those scars, and Donghyuck's head roars with ire and frustration, because he wishes he could rewind in time and take Mark's first call ever. Because he would have noticed the changes even through a phone call, he's sure of that. Because maybe if he had asked, Mark would have made the effort for him – and avoiding those first instances would have been vital.

Donghyuck doesn't know. He will never know.

“Enough?” Mark utters, voice hoarse. Donghyuck snaps his gaze up, taken aback by the rough tone, but Mark's semblance is void of anger. Rather than a warning, it's a request, a way to draw a line when he can't take it anymore. “It's a bit too cold to be half-naked.”

Donghyuck grazes against Mark's hips to put some distance between them, but Mark doesn't flinch at that intimacy. His eyes are of a hawk, studying Donghyuck as though he's fishing for that fissure that will prove how disgusting he is to Donghyuck.

That's a war Donghyuck isn't going to lose.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck whispers, even though he's sure Mark will misinterpret the apology. Risking Mark's confusion, he draws a mischievous smile and adds, “It's been a long time since I saw a man half-naked.”

Shock ripples through Mark, and then the tension disengages from them like an old door creaking down to the floor. It feels exactly like that, like a hole in the wall that allows them to stare at each other from their respective dark corners.

“God,” Mark groans, and without prior warning, he breaks into a huge, breath-taking smile. Donghyuck feels pure awe at the honesty, at the rawness of his smile, but not even Mark himself is aware that he's smiling. “Don't do that.”

He spins to grab the clothes Donghyuck picked for him, and Donghyuck takes that chance to inhale deep and slow, venomous excitement tinting the blood in his veins. Even though Mark doesn't show any shyness as he gets rid of his pants, Donghyuck pointedly looks away and clambers onto the bed – the fact that Mark is only worried about exposing his scars is unsettling, and Donghyuck has a hunch that it doesn't have anything to do with their closeness. Mark strips in front of him because he's used to that lack of privacy, not because he's comfortable with Donghyuck.

All Donghyuck can do is grant him the privacy he hasn't asked for. Mark must have scars in other parts of his body, most likely between his toes, but Donghyuck doesn't need to see more. For tonight, that’s enough.

Donghyuck curls up into the cold of his bed, goosebumps trailing down his legs. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept with Jaemin, but he misses having the warmth of another body next to him – maybe Mark does too. He’s not allowed to be intimate with anyone, and all his physical interactions are directed at Renjun; Mark only touches Donghyuck when they’re alone, when no one else can judge them, and for the first time he suspects that Mark might not be allowed to cross that line, to mold against the shape of Donghyuck’s body.

When Mark turns off the lights, Donghyuck sits up to stare at him. The door of his room is open, so is the window, and despite how overwhelming Mark’s presence is, the sensation of freedom is absolute. Mark’s figure is bathed in the little moonlight left, and only when he crawls into bed with him can Donghyuck find peace.

It’s a short dance. They don’t speak as Donghyuck turns on his side and Mark hugs him from behind, his arm falling around Donghyuck’s waist. Pressed against his abdomen, Donghyuck intertwines their hands together, and every nook of Mark’s fingers adjusts against his like two eroded puzzle pieces.

“You know what?” Mark whispers, solid words contrasting against the white noise of the night. “It's been a long time since I last touched a man in bed.”

Donghyuck slants his face against the pillow and hides his smile there. “Shut up. Stealing my jokes isn’t funny.”

Mark isn’t offended, but he irremediably trips into his silence. His grip in Donghyuck’s hand remains steadfast and awake, a sign that he’s not disposed to sleep just yet; once his hand slackens and they don’t clutch on each other with the panic of letting go, Donghyuck will be ready to sleep.

Mark shifts, subtly slipping his leg between Donghyuck’s legs, asking for permission. Donghyuck accepts the invasion without fear. Despite all of Mark’s secrets, the truth is huge and monstrous: Mark craves for touch because it’s forbidden and risky for him, because for years all prolonged physical contact led him to sex, and Donghyuck is the only exception.

It doesn’t matter whether Mark thinks about sex when he touches Donghyuck. All that matters is that they can keep each other safe, that Mark doesn’t make advances on him because he can fight the voices inside his head. He’s strong for the sake of their relationship, and even if he shatters one day, Donghyuck will put him together piece by piece.

“I fucking hate this house,” Mark confesses, his nose tentatively stroking Donghyuck’s nape, as though he wishes to leave an innocent kiss there.

This house. Not Donghyuck’s house.

Donghyuck hates it too. He hated that once upon a time he was happy here, and that the print of it won’t allow him to be happy again.

“I know you do,” Donghyuck murmurs.

Mark squeezes his hand harder, understanding the hidden story in his lack of resistance.

“It's the only reason I wanted to stay,” Mark admits. Both of them hold their breath in, in sync, aware of what he means. Donghyuck was the reason that could have tied him down, but Mark didn’t want to be tied. “And now I'm here again.”

Donghyuck knows that they will never be fifteen again, that his house will never be full in the same way it used to be, that they won’t have a second chance to live their perfect romance, but this is good enough. It’s a chilly spring night, but Mark’s skin annuls the cold breeze from the sea, and his tranquil breathing fills the quiet spaces of Donghyuck’s house.

It’s good enough.

Donghyuck wakes up in Mark’s arms, the sheets piled up at their feet and his hand molded against Mark’s spine under the clothes.

After the whole night entangled in each other and with the sun up, the heat is almost unbearable, and Donghyuck carefully sneaks away from Mark, trying not to wake him up. Mark hums in his sleep as Donghyuck detaches from him, and even though Donghyuck doesn’t mean to stare, he finds himself drawn by the peace on Mark’s semblance.

Donghyuck could stay here forever. After the painting session last night, the tavern will have to remain closed, and for once, Donghyuck doesn’t want to run away from home and seek a distraction at work. His favorite distraction is in his bed.

The universe decided to gather one chance after another, and that’s his excuse to not feel guilty for neglecting his responsibilities. His addiction to Mark, even with his ups and downs, is healthier than his coping mechanisms, healthier than his refusal to move on.

He’s used to having Jaemin around, to having breakfast on his plate when he wakes up, but today is different: it’s his turn to take care of someone else. His friends have taken care of him for so long that Donghyuck feels like a little kid as he walks down the stairs, as he looks for the ingredients and the plates and the pan in the cupboards. Food for two, he reminds himself. It doesn’t feel like a burden.

Perhaps Mark doesn’t like their typical pancakes anymore, but it’s Donghyuck’s special recipe, and when they were young, they used to throw deformed, huge chunks of the mixture and eat them with their hands, burning their tongues and their fingertips in the process. There’s still a print on the counter of that time they almost set the kitchen on fire, but Donghyuck has never been afraid of fire – he was pushed into the tavern’s kitchen too often for that.

Donghyuck doesn’t hear Mark coming down the stairs, however. He’s in the middle of finishing the pancakes when Mark’s voice, sleepy and amused, pops up from behind.

“ _Tiganites_ ,” Mark says, recognizing the smell without trouble. He nearly corners Donghyuck against the counter, peeking over his shoulder to make sure that he’s not imagining them, and Donghyuck shivers at the proximity. There’s no getting used to Mark. He would need a thousand nights, and still, he doubts the thrill would disappear. “They look good.”

Donghyuck chuckles at that, pleased with the compliment. Those are words that feel heavy and odd on the new Mark, a sensation of normalcy that Donghyuck refuses to trust.

“Are you hungry?” he replies instead, elbowing Mark’s stomach as a request to give him space. To his surprise, Mark grasps the message and retreats, not without caressing his arm first.

“I sure am now.” The chair creaks under Mark’s weight, but he merely leans his chin on his palm and observes Donghyuck in interest, as though his cooking is the most interesting play ever. Donghyuck throws him a few questioning glances while he flips the pancakes, but he can’t bring himself to bark an order and interrupt Mark’s thoughts. If Mark wants to stare at him, with his funny bed hair and his hooded, tired eyes, that's a whim Donghyuck can indulge. “What are you doing today?”

Even if Mark isn't aware of it, it's hard to miss the subtle plea in his question. Donghyuck figured out that after last night, they wouldn't part at all, but Mark's insecurity drives him to doubt. Mark has finally invaded all the aspects of his life – he's gotten used to having him every day at the tavern, but also when they're outside, and today there's no point in closing his house again.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck muses, sliding the last pancake onto the plate. Mark's gaze fixes on the food for a second, and Donghyuck wonders if he didn't eat enough last night. Sometimes he doesn't, since the withdrawals might force him to puke his meals afterwards; when Mark senses a bad trip, he takes his own measures. “What do you want to do?”

Mark sends him an undecipherable glance, and even once Donghyuck slips the plate towards him and sits with him, he frowns at him as though Donghyuck's attitude doesn't make sense. Mark wasn't expecting an invitation to stick around; he's stretched Donghyuck's comfort, and now it might be thin and fragile, but he suspects that Mark is the glue that is keeping all the pieces united.

“You still have some old movies,” Mark manages to reply at last. He grabs one of the forks, though it slips between his fingers on the first try – he's oddly drowsy and weak. “I haven’t watched a movie that wasn’t _mine_ in so long.”

Donghyuck hasn't watched anything from his collection in a long time either, so he nods and softly says, “We can do that.”

Mark's dark eyes linger on him before he dips into the pancakes. It doesn’t take a genius to perceive the silent gratitude, the acknowledgment of Donghyuck's efforts to spoil him.

Donghyuck doesn’t have time to feel ashamed: the noise of the phone ringing through the hall robs that chance from him. They startle at the interruption in unison, and Donghyuck wishes he could ignore the call, but the only calls he ever receives are from Jaemin and Jeno, and they wouldn’t bother him if it wasn’t important.

After muttering a quick, illogical _sorry_ , he bolts out and runs into the hall. The big phone hanging off the wall is a bit old by now, but Donghyuck refuses to change an object that was there for his whole life. Besides, before Renjun gave him that generous amount of money, he couldn’t waste money on new technology.

As soon as he picks up the phone, a voice hisses a desperate, “Mark?”

It's Renjun.

Curiosity boils within Donghyuck, but the concern in Renjun's voice doesn't allow him to start an interrogatory about how he got his number. Maybe he spent the night with Jeno, who knows his number by memory, or maybe he looked for it on Mark's phone list.

“I’m Donghyuck.”

“Please, tell me Mark is with you. Please, I-” Renjun rambles, speaking over Donghyuck in pure panic; he has never lost his composure before him, and it's shocking to hear how Renjun falls apart through a phone call, _because of_ Mark, because he's not in his hands and he’s scared of the consequences. “He hasn’t come home yet and-”

“Hey, calm down,” Donghyuck cuts him off. He feels bad for Renjun. He understands him. “He’s still here, we’re just planning to watch a movie?”

“Oh.” Renjun pauses, and even through the line, his astonishment is blatant. “He’s fine?”

Donghyuck bites his lower lip and glances at the kitchen, praying that Mark isn't listening to the conversation. The lack of trust in Renjun’s statement disturbs Donghyuck so deeply that it's hard to ignore.

Renjun knows this Mark like the back of his hand. He knows that Mark could have lied to him about staying with Donghyuck tonight, or lied to Donghyuck about going back home early in the morning. Maybe he wouldn't be able to find drugs on the island, but it would be awfully easy for him to find someone to fuck. After experiencing how Mark clutched onto him tonight, Donghyuck believes him capable of seeking sex in strangers.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, lowering his voice on purpose. “But that sounds like he shouldn’t be.”

Renjun's silence reveals all he can't tell Donghyuck; that, or the guilt that Donghyuck’s intuition provokes in him. It can be their little secret, Donghyuck thinks, to be worried about Mark to the point of insanity.

“He takes his dose early in the morning,” Renjun explains, and though he obviates the bigger problem, Donghyuck bites into the trap. Without his dose, Mark might crash into uncontrollable withdrawals. “You should bring him here, but-”

But Renjun doesn’t want to ruin this for him. It’s the first speck of true freedom Mark has breathed since he arrived at Skopelos, and he hasn't betrayed their trust. He's making an effort. Even if this isn’t normal, they can afford to pretend that it is, until Mark crumbles down under the first signs of withdrawals and Donghyuck has to take the reins.

Donghyuck might not be prepared for that. Even though Mark vomits and has short attacks at the tavern, that level is manageable. It’s controlled by his doctor, expected, and even a symptom of progress. If he suffers withdrawals now, they will be merciless, and Donghyuck has no experience with the most ruthless side of them.

He needs to swallow his pride and ask Renjun to _train_ him, at least give him a few directions, or otherwise Mark will never be able to be alone with him for a long time. The prospect of managing Mark’s withdrawals by himself is terrifying, but it’s worth it.

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Donghyuck decides, surrendering. Mark might hate him for it, but his embarrassment will prevent him from arguing with Donghyuck. He’ll know right away who called. “We can watch the movie afterward.”

Instead of waiting for approval, Donghyuck smashes the phone against the supporter, frustrated. The crash resonates all over the house, but it doesn't worry Donghyuck. Mark knows better than asking questions, even if he throws a questioning look at him as soon as he returns to the kitchen. Donghyuck refuses with a dry shake of his head.

It's a short moment of peace, while they dig into the same plate and eat together, and Donghyuck doesn't want to ruin it either. Mark will have plenty of time to let reality devour him whole.

Mark’s company at night isn’t a solitary, unique occurrence.

Jumping over that breach builds the last bridge between them. If Donghyuck felt like they were living in separate lands before, now he feels like he's pulled their tectonic plates together and only the entrails of the earth shifting could tear them apart.

He doesn't mind when Mark crosses the bridge without asking. He doesn't mind the private gestures of affection, their hands brushing under the counter of the tavern while they work, the repressed smiles in the kitchen, the gossiping about their friends, the way Mark quietly sticks to him some nights, the plea of following him home floating in the air.

It's their private territory, and no one can intrude.

However, it's impossible to keep every move a secret. While Jaemin and Jeno are patient and allow Donghyuck to progress at his own pace, Renjun pushes his buttons. It's part of his job, Donghyuck figures out, to control Mark's whereabouts when he's out of sight.

Even though Renjun has granted Donghyuck faith that he didn't earn, he's susceptible to making mistakes too. To letting Mark rope into forbidden things for both of them.

Some questions are uncomfortable, and most of the time Renjun's reactions are as gray as a winter storm. He should be relieved that they haven't kissed, that they haven't gone beyond sharing a bed and drowning against each other for warmth, but under the façade of professionalism, Renjun can't hide his personal disappointment. Renjun isn’t cautious about his warning, however. Kissing isn’t an option, not yet, is his favorite claim. And even if they could, even if sometimes Donghyuck forgets that he can't merely lean forward and leave a casual peck on Mark's lips, their peace would never last long.

It isn't a mystery that they will never be only friends, regardless of their decisions and their distance. Donghyuck could be with a hundred men and he wouldn't stop loving Mark. He could fall in love with another man and he would still love Mark. One word and he would demolish all the cities he built, one word and only the bridge between them would remain untouched.

His anger and his frustration emanate from every feeling that runs under his skin. When he meets eyes with Mark, the world stops its gears and doesn't rotate; he feels like he's catapulted by an invisible hand, like only Mark can grasp him and tug him back to the right place. And worst of all, he gets used to it. He develops that dangerous connection that will make him dependent, but neither Donghyuck nor Mark can stop it.

“I'm going to start booking nights at your place,” Jaemin protests one morning as they drag the new products into the tavern. While most of their product comes from the island itself, once a month they receive batches from the peninsula. The mercantile ship always arrives before the sunrise and promises a whole day of hard work, and today Mark has his weekly long therapy session, so they're missing that extra couple of hands. “What is it now, a hotel? It was my home before.”

Donghyuck pushes the last box inside with his foot, panting. He looks up at Jaemin, who's already organizing the orders in categories, and admires his energy at this time of the morning. Sunrise has just ended, and part of Donghyuck feels like he's still stuck in bed, fatigue in his muscles and foggy thoughts in his mind.

He can’t take a conversation about Mark in this state.

“You can sleep over even if Mark is there, you know?” Donghyuck points out, biting the inside of his cheek.

Maybe Jaemin wouldn’t be able to sleep in bed with them, but Donghyuck would take the couch out of courtesy.

“Thank you, but I'll pass,” Jaemin says, laughing out loud at him. Donghyuck scowls at him, well-aware of why Jaemin finds the proposal hilarious, and his friend confirms it one second later, “I already third-wheel all day in the tavern. And then, when I'm with Jeno and Renjun, it's the same story. I would get sick if I had to see you and Mark flirting all night.”

Donghyuck retaliates at that, speechless. From an unbiased perspective, he's falling into neglect when it comes to Jaemin and Jeno – somehow, all of them are. They reunite some nights to have dinner together, but Renjun and Jeno are unreachable when Mark is being supervised by someone else. That sensation of parallelism is unsettling: he intends to be Mark's support, but he can't turn his back on the friends that have kept him sane during the last years.

“Don't compare me to Jeno _and_ Renjun,” Donghyuck groans, and when Jaemin pivots to glare at him, he digs the heels of his palms against his eyes.

Perhaps stress is catching up to him for many reasons: for the responsibility he feels towards Mark, while he manages the tavern, tries to keep up with Jeno and Jaemin even if they don't collaborate, and latches onto Renjun’s complex advice about how he should or shouldn’t treat Mark.

Donghyuck can't blame his friends for this, however, because he’s being quite prudent about his private time with Mark. They witness enough of their relationship at the tavern, and it doesn’t differ that much from how they behave at Donghyuck’s home.

“Jeno refuses to share anything, it's kind of unnerving,” Donghyuck remarks in an attempt to deflect Jaemin’s attention. His friend dedicates him a blank stare that flashes skepticism, but Donghyuck doesn’t give up. “Where the hell do they go when they're not with us? Apart from the painting houses excuse. There aren't so many houses to paint, I won't buy into that.”

There isn't much to do in Skopelos, though summer is around the corner and their routine will drift soon. Renjun and Jeno might be strolling around and talking to each other, for all Donghyuck knows, but he _wants_ to know.

“That's because there's nothing to tell,” Jaemin says with a noise of contempt. He observes Donghyuck with curiosity as he approaches him, but there's intentionality in the spark of his eyes, and Donghyuck simply has to wait for Jaemin to betray himself. “They're just ignoring the obvious tension for no reason, I’m quite surprised Jeno hasn’t fucked him yet.”

Donghyuck is torn between laughing and groaning, so he shoves Jaemin and protests, “You’re _surprised_? Disgusting.”

Donghyuck is surprised too, though. Renjun has no shackles to hold him back, and taking it slow with Jeno has been an unexpected choice – Donghyuck expected them to fuck and then fool around for the rest of Renjun’s stay in Skopelos, but they’re walking the long route. Usually Jeno wouldn't have any objection either; he's grown used to summer boys that fall in love with him and then leave forever. He's grown used to forgetting and being forgotten, and Renjun won't be the one to set the difference.

Uncomfortable with that realization, Donghyuck chooses to stay silent. If Jeno gets hurt, they will be trapped inside an endless maze; Jaemin can carry one of them, but not both at once, and Donghyuck melts under the mere prospect of seeing Jeno suffer.

Jaemin studies his expression, leaning his arm on the pile of boxes, and tenderly wraps his hand around Donghyuck's hip. Jaemin's hold, soft and pliant, fixes him on the spot without the need of using strength.

“What about you two?” Jaemin asks at last, with so much caution that it's obvious that the question was a thorn in his tongue.

Jaemin has hunted for answers before, but it was in the form of teasing and light, unimportant jokes.

Donghyuck bites his lower lip, and for a split second he chokes on insanity and considers spilling the truth: that he'd give up his whole life for Mark, to make him happy; that beyond his recovery and his health, Donghyuck wants to stay beside him, and wake up every morning in his arms, in their solitary house on an island, where no one can bother them and where, under flesh and bone, they can be who they truly are.

“We've already talked about this, Jaemin,” is the strained rejection that leaves Donghyuck's mouth instead.

And Jaemin might have conformed to that, but after weeks of secretiveness, he's set on boring further.

“Yeah, but do you-?” Jaemin begins, but he restrains himself, as though his sudden attempt was on the wrong path. An adorable frown of concentration blooms between his eyebrows, as Jaemin struggles to form a coherent, harmless explanation. “I don't believe you don't want anything to happen, and it's doing you no good to bottle it up. Even when Mark is _sick_ , he looks at you like he used to, and it's quite different from how he looks at everyone else.”

When Mark looks at him, Donghyuck is capable of pretending they're in a perfect world where he doesn't have to take any decision, where there are no rules that deform their happiness. Mark's sex addiction is a secret, one so immense that it's bound to shape their relationship. Of course Donghyuck wants to kiss him, to slide his hands under his clothes and feel hot against every inch of his bare body, but Mark can't love him back, not during sex. Donghyuck would become a tool to fulfill his addiction, a toy, no matter that Mark would never hurt him on purpose.

Purpose is as fragile as Mark's issues, and Donghyuck is running on a tightrope. If Mark breaks, Donghyuck falls.

But he can't reveal that, because Mark made him promise he wouldn't expose Jaemin and Jeno to that ugly aspect of his life. It's still quite telling that among all his addictions, that's the one that shames Mark to his core. Donghyuck has to respect that. If Mark told him, it was because he knew it would be necessary to rebuild their relationship. Because it would affect Donghyuck directly.

“I know you're trying to help,” Donghyuck tells Jaemin. “Help _me_ , in particular, but this doesn't depend only on me. Mark isn't in the best state to form a bond with anyone, and you know that. You know all the ways this could go wrong if he doesn't find that balance first.”

Jaemin nods to acknowledge his worries, but his semblance overflows with disagreement.

“Mark has a problem,” he admits. “But that doesn't mean he can't take care of you when you need it. That's just how relationships work, Hyuck. Sometimes one has to take care of the other without expecting it back, and that's on us right now. It won't be like this forever.”

“Maybe I'm selfish, then,” Donghyuck snaps, and he can't help the harshness, the urge of shutting his friend up. Jaemin doesn't oppose resistance when he steps back; it's hard not to perceive Donghyuck's anger, tucked under a sort of self-control that is far from being robust, but Jaemin doesn't bother to hide his surprise. A pang of embarrassment thunders through Donghyuck. “Maybe I don't want to be loved the only way he can love me now. I can be his friend, though I don't want to be his friend, until we can have the beginning we deserve.”

It isn't true. Donghyuck would have any beginning with Mark, as long as it felt right for the both of them, but drowning that trail of lies turns out to be impossible. Jaemin seems taken aback, and it's strangely satisfying; it might hurt Donghyuck, but he needs to force Jaemin out of this. He can't provide the explanation that would seal Jaemin's lips forever, and his only option is to wear prickles on his shield.

“You can't have a new beginning,” Jaemin retorts, confused, staring at Donghyuck like there's a whole universe between them. “This hasn't started just _now_.”

“That's what you think about him, as a friend.” Donghyuck gulps down, focusing all his nerves in his throat. It's a containment strategy, the line between fighting Jaemin and just granting a peaceful closure to the discussion. “But the man that sleeps in my bed isn't the kid I used to kiss in high school, and I don't know if he'll ever be that person again. It's not fair to project that on him just because it's what I want to see.”

That confession mellows Jaemin, sweeps the both of them into a long silence that, if they let it be, could last forever. Donghyuck looks into Jaemin's eyes and perceives understanding, that proof of love and comprehension that has salvaged Donghyuck for years.

Jaemin isn’t his enemy, and it’s not fair that Donghyuck is shaping him into that.

“You're not who you used to be either.” Even though Jaemin doesn't scoot closer, his words do. “Your past is _you_ too, and that applies to Mark as well. Neither of you would be who you are today without that past.”

It's supposed to be a consolation, built on what Jaemin assumes will soothe Donghyuck's anxiety, but the effect is null. Mark fears the Hollywood boy that he became in the past five years, and he's working to get rid of him until there aren't even ashes left – he needs a new beginning, and Donghyuck will convince everyone that it's possible just to grant him that.

“I need you to drop it,” Donghyuck utters, his determination dimming out. This fight is exhausting. Jaemin wants them to be happy, and Donghyuck wants to tell him the truth, but neither is possible. Donghyuck sinks his face against the boxes, an attempt at repressing the scream that threatens to escape. “Right now, Jaemin, there are things that I can't tell you, and we're not going to cross that line for Mark's sake.”

That final negative is a low blow, but it's Donghyuck's last resort. Jaemin's semblance contorts into disappointment as soon as realization strikes: there's a secret, and it's all Mark's fault. There’s a secret, and Donghyuck won’t tell him.

Donghyuck feels regret wailing and kicking from inside too. They were a family of four once upon a time, but for the longest time they learned to be three; there were no ripples or lies that could have separated them, because they had each other and no one else. It's ironic that Mark's return, which should have kicked them back to the good old days, draws the first fissure among them.

Today Donghyuck has to choose Mark's side instead of Jaemin's, and it’s voluntary, what his heart drives him to do.

They're not used to choose, and Donghyuck hasn’t chosen him.

By the time the weekend rolls around their fight is long forgotten, but Donghyuck's guilt doesn't evaporate. Owing loyalty and secrecy to someone is a novelty for him, and though Jaemin doesn't bring up the topic again, Donghyuck needs reassurance.

He tugs Jaemin into his house a couple of nights, after avoiding Mark all day so that he understands the message without words. There's no explicit refusal, but Jaemin burrows into the sheets with a frown, and both of them know what’s on his mind.

Donghyuck's bed smells of Mark, there's a pair of shoes that he left there last week, and a pile of their mixed clothes on one of the chairs. The new toothbrush in the bathroom, red and electric, is difficult to mistake as well.

But he's not conscious of the blatant changes until Jaemin, who was part of his ecosystem months ago, creates a dissonance with his mere existence. Donghyuck despises that idea: Mark isn’t a replacement for his friends. He’ll never be, and over all, Jeno and Jaemin can’t be replaced and pushed away.

But they don't speak about it, because this is new for them, because none of them have had strong romantic feelings for a man since they grew up. Maybe learning to balance Mark and his friends is part of adulthood, and adapting to the subtle changes is what brings that discomfort.

They sleep holding hands and Donghyuck thinks of Mark all night, imagines what would happen if it could be the three of them without judgment – if he could melt against Mark in their friends' presence, without an interrogatory afterwards, without expectations or obligations.

When he wakes up wrapped over Jaemin out of habit, head dipping into the crook of his neck and a leg over him, Jaemin doesn't point out that he knows the reason. It takes twenty-one days to form a habit, and Mark’s body is his new habit, one that he can’t get rid of even when he’s not there.

Donghyuck spends the rest of the morning with a slight blush over his cheeks, but Jaemin doesn’t tease him. He moves around Donghyuck’s house like it’s any other normal morning, and they bicker all the way to the tavern about what they should prepare today for the main menu. Jaemin has the talent to comfort him, but that doesn’t mean that Donghyuck is blind to his concert.

Mark arrives at the tavern just a couple of hours later, a group of kids indiscreetly chasing after him and peeking through the windows. Even after months, Mark still gets curious stares and overexcited kids that follow him everywhere – they only have to rent one of his movies to feel a new burst of admiration, and the circle begins again.

“Morning,” he greets them, waving at Jaemin when he passes by the table he's wiping. Donghyuck scans him from head to toe in that ephemeral state, seizing all the significant details. Dark circles. His back a bit hunched, and a dark cloud over his eyes. But there's color on his face, his shoulders are relaxed and his voice is lighter. It's not a bad day, and that's pretty much clear when Mark meets his gaze without fear and shoots, “Kitchen duties for me again?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck confirms. Mark looks healthy enough to assign him to the tables, but he's not going to take the risk. He has a hunch Mark prefers the solitude of the kitchen too, since he doesn’t have to lift a façade. “I'll join you at midday if you need help.”

Mark arrogantly dismisses him with a wave of his hand before disappearing into the kitchen. When Donghyuck strains his gaze away from the door, he catches Jaemin observing him from the other side of the tavern, a grin plastered on his face.

Donghyuck dips under the counter, pretending to clean the row of glasses underneath, but his lips inevitably spread into a grin, just as full of hope as Jaemin's. Mark is irritable because they didn’t spend the weekend together, because he didn’t get to share Donghyuck’s bed and Jaemin’s complaints won over him.

Renjun and Jeno pay them a visit late at night, when there are no customers left and Jaemin has moved onto loudly complaining about the old woman that keeps trying to set him up with her daughter. Donghyuck has just finished eating, and Mark tuned into the radio while cleaning the kitchen, but he still adds random opinions to Jaemin's protests to let them know he's paying attention.

There's still a sort of special silence among them, comfortable wordless moments in which every one of them lives in their own head. When summer is close, however, silences feel different. They're full of white noise, intense thoughts that fill the air and raw impulses that can't be hidden. Impulses that they don't discuss either, but that burn between them when Donghyuck wears fewer clothes than usual, or when Mark's hands linger on him despite his evident grumpiness, or when his insistent gaze pleads for favors Donghyuck can't respond.

Renjun's presence that night is, in many ways, a curse, but a blessing for Donghyuck's sanity. Mark recoils into the kitchen when Jeno and Renjun arrive, although Renjun doesn't hesitate to hunt after him, as though he intuits that Mark's thoughts are deviating to indecent places.

Donghyuck doesn't know if he'll ever get used to the tight bond of their relationship – it still feels foreign to witness Mark so tied to a boy that didn't grow up with them – but there are corners in Mark's mind that only Renjun reaches, and Donghyuck can’t deny that.

He interrupts their conversation to ask about Renjun's dinner, but all he receives is a plate for Jeno and a dismissal, to which Donghyuck rolls his eyes. Renjun makes sure to close the door once he's out, and Donghyuck scowls wholeheartedly at the door, the itch of being left out crawling on him.

“Renjun and I thought about going to Thessaloniki,” Jeno chirps up as Donghyuck serves him dinner. His eagerness is tangible, and Donghyuck has a hunch he hasn't eaten in the whole day, so he snuggles up to him without a word. Jeno presses a kiss on the top of his head, laughing, and then continues, “Just for a weekend. There's this new gay club-”

Donghyuck winces at the mere mention of that, and before Jeno has the chance to explain himself, he hisses a crispy, “Mark can go to clubs?”

Only Jaemin and Jeno catch the question, but the three of them turn to glance at the kitchen by instinct. It's safe. Renjun's voice is just a murmur, but the drowned noises from the kitchen indicate that their conversation will remain private for now.

Jeno shrugs, but hesitation hands between them. This isn’t about Mark’s rules and limitations, and Jeno is conscious that he must tread lightly.

“Renjun thinks he's doing pretty well,” Jeno begins, much to their shock. Renjun rarely shares Mark's progress with Jaemin and Donghyuck, unless it's vital for them, unless he has to set a new rule that will condition them. Until now Donghyuck convinced himself that it was a matter of respect, but if Renjun is revealing those details to Jeno, it implies that they only have to ask. “So he talked to Doyoung and he agreed that Mark needs to integrate his recovery into a normal life.”

Donghyuck evaluates the idea with reticence. He's not well-versed in what Mark's therapy is like, but fear grapples at him in a split second. Mark has told him about Hollywood parties, and it's the first time Donghyuck realizes that sooner or later, Mark will be roped back into that habitat.

Going to a club with his four friends is harmless compared to being shoved into the wildness of Hollywood, and even if the prospect terrifies Donghyuck, it's a prudent, valid idea.

“This is normal,” Donghyuck mutters anyhow, gesturing around them, at Skopelos, at the boredom and the routine of their lives.

Jeno doesn't bother to contradict him. Donghyuck's stubbornness doesn't come off as a surprise, but he exchanges a resigned look with Jaemin as if to gather patience.

“You know what they mean,” Jeno tells him. He braids his fingers in Donghyuck's hair, tender, like he comprehends his need of protecting Mark. “If he recovers completely but relapses at the first party he has to attend, it's going to be a disaster.”

Mark won't always have them to keep an eye on him, so he has to master that type of self-control on his own. He won't be truly recovered until temptation is in front of him and he has the strength to ignore it. Donghyuck clutching onto him, overprotecting him, will provoke a dependence that could destroy him scarily fast.

“Thessaloniki?” Donghyuck whispers, hesitant. They've never gone to Thessaloniki before, and it's pretty far away from their island. It will take them a whole day to reach their destination, and they can afford that waste of time, but yanking Mark into such long trip might not be the best idea. “What did you hear about the club?”

Jeno perks up at the subtle acceptance, or in Donghyuck's opinion, surrender.

“It opened last year, and so far it's working in small, private circles. Friends bringing friends, privacy assured because outing themselves will put everyone in danger,” Jeno explains in what sounds almost like a plea.

The rumors about these sort of spaces always travel from mouth to mouth, because it would be too risky for them to ask strangers about queer clubs. They had their fair share of discrimination in Skopelos, where their neighbors already knew them, where everyone had seen them grow up, and the peninsula is always merciless on them. Most of the time Donghyuck prefers pretending over risking his well-being, his life, but it's undeniable that the pressure becomes unbearable sometimes.

“We can't go to Athens or to Mykonos,” Jeno continues, answering the question Donghyuck didn't ask. “Renjun knows other gay actors that go there between schedules, so Mark will be recognized.”

“Is it safe?”

“As long as we stay inside the club, yes.” Jeno presses his lips into a line as Jaemin grabs a chair and sits with them. It's his silent way to agree with the plans, but Donghyuck didn't doubt that Jaemin would join. Donghyuck is the only one among them that can deal with the routine of the island without trouble. “Don't you miss it? I'm tired of hiding everywhere. I just want to-” Jeno's voice softens, and he stares at the table, a coyness that isn't proper of him, “have a normal night with Renjun and not pretend we're straight.”

The truth can't be more direct than that, and Donghyuck's walls crumble down in an instant. Just like Donghyuck's affection towards Mark is limited to their homes, Jeno and Renjun can't freely hold hands in public or flirt in the middle of the tavern. It earns them disgusted looks and an intrinsic fear of being assaulted. Even if they have to travel for fifteen hours for a night of freedom, it will be worth it.

“Fine,” Donghyuck accepts, and when Jeno sighs in absolute relief, he squeezes his thigh under the table. “But have you asked Mark first? He might not be into that.”

The universe loathes Donghyuck, because in that exact moment Renjun and Mark step out of the kitchen, and Jaemin turns on his seat without an ounce of shame.

“Mark,” Jaemin calls, snapping his fingers at him. Renjun yawns on his way to the table, and Mark trails after him with his eyebrows raised, not innocent enough to obviate that they’ve been talking about him. “They want to go clubbing, you up for it?”

The proposal disorients Mark, and perhaps that's the reason he throws a curious glance at Donghyuck first, as though he suspects he would hate the idea.

They sneaked into a club when they were fifteen and sixteen on a trip to Athens with their parents, a thrilling, mischievous adventure that none of them could forget. It was life-changing. There were people like them, happy and unashamed, expressing themselves like they wished to. It was a peek into true freedom, even if it was in a secretive club at night, temporal, and everyone had to return to their regular lives the next morning.

“Outside Skopelos?” Mark shoots back, lazily looking away from Donghyuck to check Jaemin's response. Jaemin merely smiles at him, and Mark groans, “God, yes.”

Mark would never turn down an offer to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of you mentioned in the comments that you were afraid of the possible angst ahead... that this looked like the calm before the storm.  
> well- this was the calm, and it ends here. the storm comes next *wink*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Mark relaxes, he’s all Donghyuck perceives. Mark dancing with him, Mark taking his hand, Mark's smile lighting up in the darkness of the club, Mark laughing into his ear when they clash against each other. Donghyuck detaches from reality and falls into the dream that Mark crafts for him, wishing he could have a dream for him too, a little snow globe where Mark could live forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY here we go. i promised angst, and there's angst, but i have to admit i didn't suffer at all while writing it, so i don't know if i've become immune or it just turned out softer than i expected :) you guys tell me
> 
> some important things for this chapter:  
> -first of all, i want to say thanks to marilena and mash, who helped me to find the greek resources that this chapter is based on! the club, the greek party and other details come from them!  
> -ahududu, the club they go to, comes from that research too, and it existed for real! if you're curious you can read an interview about it [here](https://parallaximag.gr/thessaloniki/ahududu)  
> (or just look at the... very interesting pictures, since it's in greek lol). the carnations moment is something that can happen at greek parties too, which i found amazing and obviously couldn't miss the opportunity to use here.  
> -if you haven't watched footloose (1984), the movie they watch in the beginning, i'd recommend it!  
> -i wasn't sure of how to trigger warning what happens in this chapter, so i accept suggestions
> 
> trigger warnings: the usual addictions talk, and an explicit moment that tips into dubious morality.

Donghyuck doesn't remember the last time he went on a long trip, but he remembers that Mark was there with him.

It's a bitter realization. He hasn't left the island in the last five years except for the eventual visits to the cinema and some parties – trips that never were longer than a couple of days. In many cases they traveled within the same day, setting foot back in Skopelos late at night, since their parents needed them back to work.

Renjun is the new addition to the wrinkle in their traveling routine. When Donghyuck opens his wardrobe and throws his clothes around to choose which ones to bring on the trip, Renjun lingers around him with prying eyes, out of curiosity and, at last, a pure will to pester Donghyuck.

Ignoring their intermittent bickering, Mark lies on the bed and distractedly recites the exact path Jaemin prepared for them. Even though Jaemin drew the outline of their trip at the tavern, scribbling down on napkins between order and order, he took care of every single detail afterwards. Since there are only a few days left for summer and the island is receiving tourists, he bought tickets for the tourist ferry to Volos. From there on, they will rent a car and take turns to drive all the way to Thessaloniki – the alternative was traveling by bus, but the fewer people recognized Mark, the better.

No one mentioned it, but it would impossible to force a bus to pull over in the middle of the road, if Mark ever needed it.

“What the hell is this?” Renjun asks with a snort. He grabs a big, brown sweater with his fingertips, as though it's dirty, and dedicates Donghyuck a derisive look. “Are these your grandfather's clothes, Donghyuck?”

Just to flatten Renjun's arrogance, Donghyuck considers telling him that yes, it's a family gift from his dead grandfather, but he opts for snatching his sweater back into his possession.

“I don't dress like you,” Donghyuck reminds him. He would never have the money to afford Renjun's clothes, not even with the generous tip from Mark's deposit. But even if he had the means, he doubts he would have the ill heart to get rid of his comfortable wardrobe in favor of less practical, but more superficial clothes. “And I don't want to, actually. I'm living a good life not straining my balls in my pants. Haven’t you heard? You won’t have any babies if you don’t change your ways, Renjun.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he perceives the glare Renjun sends him, but also how Mark rolls face down to repress an outburst of laughter. Donghyuck smiles to himself, too.

“We're going to a club, Donghyuck,” Renjun insists, a frown on his face as the print of a lost argument. “Let me lend you some clothes. Not the tight pants, alright? Though I'm sure they would fit you just right.”

Donghyuck doesn't bother to highlight the evident: they're not going to one of those fancy clubs Mark and Renjun frequent in Hollywood. It’s a relatively new club, and being overzealous might provoke disappointment; he understands that neither Renjun nor Mark have gone out in months, and their eagerness isn’t manageable anymore.

But Donghyuck has experienced enough repression to imagine that the club is merely a special place for all those that can't express themselves in public, rather than for wild party animals looking for excess.

“We'll see,” is Donghyuck's acceptance. Promises are too dangerous when Renjun is on the receiving end. He closes the suitcase and sits on it, tugging at the zip and praying it won't break; it's an old cheap suitcase that belonged to his father, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if it cracked under him without previous warning. Renjun sets his foot on the edge, a little help that makes Donghyuck roll his eyes. “We're supposed to leave tomorrow morning, is that clear? If any of you two is late-”

There's no point in finishing his threat. Mark isn't even paying him any attention. Both of them are aware that they will wake up together, curled up on that same bed, so Mark doesn’t have any chance of showing up late to the ferry's departure. Renjun has his own guardian, except the other half is Jeno.

“Will you leave me behind, Donghyuck?” Renjun sing-songs, unaffected. He crawls onto the bed with Mark, who welcomes him without a pinch of hesitation. At this point, their gestures of affection don't perplex Donghyuck anymore. For a long time, before Mark dared to touch Donghyuck, Renjun was the only person he could hug, or kiss, or cuddle with. That indent in their behavior is permanent. “It would be your announced death as soon as you came back.”

Donghyuck flips him off, but once his suitcase is zipped, he decides to leave them alone in his room. Jeno and Jaemin join them around midday, and though they didn't prepare this stunt beforehand, all of them cozily invade Donghyuck's house for lunch. For a couple of hours, his house feels so alive – so full of laughter, and smiles, and some sneaky cheek kisses that he doesn't miss – that Donghyuck can't even scold his friends for stealing his food. He's used to feeding people anyhow, to sharing, and setting a plate on the table for his friends is always a comforting experience.

But when they take the ruckus to the living room, they discover that the couch is too small for five boys. Renjun and Donghyuck have to sit on the floor, while Jeno and Mark argue over which movie they should watch and Jaemin extends his legs over their laps, taking advantage of their argument. Donghyuck's movie inventory isn't that extense to begin with, but their little fights seem to entertain Renjun and Jaemin as well, so they let them be.

One hour into _Footloose_ , Jeno and Mark have drifted off to sleep in each other's embrace, and Renjun elbows Donghyuck’s side with more delicacy than he would ever use under normal circumstances. Donghyuck is about to pass out too, stomach full and the warmth of four bodies around him, but Renjun suctions him out of dreamland.

A sarcastic retort rests on the tip of his tongue, a retort that melts down as he detects the weight of Renjun's expression.

“Can we talk?” Renjun whispers, nervously glancing back at the trio on the couch. Jaemin is still awake, but he pretends not to hear them – always so considerate, when it comes to Renjun, that it annoys Donghyuck. Upon noticing the direction of his gaze, Renjun clarifies, “Alone.”

The curt nod that Donghyuck concedes him is enough. Renjun entangles their hands together and pulls Donghyuck up, and then remains silent as his steps lead them both to the kitchen. It’s strange that Renjun takes this liberty in a house that doesn’t belong to him, but Donghyuck is too intrigued to pick a fight. He chooses silence as well, sensing the teetering vibrations that swim through Renjun, an occurrence so rare that it leaves him speechless.

The kitchen's door creaks on its gears, but the noise doesn’t wake up anyone in the living room. And then Renjun looks at him, crossing his arms over his chest, and Donghyuck recoils in himself.

“You know we were considering if that last ticket should be for Soyou or for Doyoung, right?” he asks, though it's not truly a question. Soyou is Mark's doctor, and until now, Donghyuck was sure that she would accompany them. The possibility wasn’t a certainty yet, so Jaemin hadn’t booked an individual room for her yet, and judging Renjun's semblance, it won't be necessary. “We agreed that it should be Doyoung. I know how to inject Mark if we come to that, and he's on really low doses nowadays, so a full withdrawal shouldn't hit him too hard.”

Donghyuck observes Renjun, blinks at the image in front of him, and tries to determine if he’s trapped inside a dream. A dream where Mark’s progress would be that visible, that clear.

That's new information. Mark's progress is undeniable, but he doesn't like talking about it with Donghyuck. Their days are based on a _I feel better_ or a _I feel worse_ , and they operate around each other respecting those boundaries. Some days Mark suffers the consequences in brutal, unconcealed ways that leave no room for words, so Donghyuck always prefers his tiny, scarce words.

Donghyuck didn't even know that Renjun injected Mark; however, it makes sense. Soyou must need free days as well, while Mark needs someone by his side every single day of his life, someone that can take care of him physically and emotionally. Renjun is that person.

“Are you sure?” Donghyuck breathes out, unsure.

The idea of a full withdrawal is foreign, and if he’s honest with himself, it terrifies him. Mark’s controlled withdrawals spiral into terrible places that he can barely manage; adventuring beyond that induces terror into him.

Renjun sinks his teeth in his lower lip, holding back his answer – perhaps because there are no full certainties when it comes to Mark's recovery, or perhaps because this isn't where he wants to take the conversation.

Closing the distance between them, Renjun squeezes his hand and whispers, “I think you should learn to do it too, Donghyuck.”

That’s how he solves that fleeting mystery. Donghyuck chokes on his own surprise, on the absolute fear that nibbles on him. The proposal is absurd. He can't inject Mark. He's never had a syringe in his own hands, and there are so many possible mistakes that could ruin Mark; the wrong dose, the wrong time, the wrong drug. The wrong person.

Cowardice has always been tricky to him; he should be brave for Mark, but asking this from him is like asking him to steal a star from the sky.

His reticence must be palpable, because Renjun's gaze softens, his fingers tapping over the back of Donghyuck’s hand. He grants him some time to ponder, but Donghyuck’s silence has no end, and Renjun heavies a sigh.

“Only if you want to, of course. But if you did, you wouldn't have to worry about bringing Mark over every morning,” Renjun explains. That catches him off guard, because this isn't just a matter of convenience; Renjun knows that Mark wants to stay with him in the mornings, not feel like they're always running out of time, like Donghyuck always has to return him like he’s a broken toy that has to be fixed after a night of playing with him. “He's close to the final phase though, so if you're not comfortable and want to pass on this, it's fine.”

Close to the final phase. Donghyuck raises his gaze, delving into Renjun's eyes for an answer, but he doesn't seem disposed to describe Mark’s secrets further. If Mark will be completely free from drugs soon, then Donghyuck should be ready for a change too. That rough, sober Mark that tries to build his new life brick by brick without cement will be perennial.

“Is _he_ comfortable with this?”

“It's not easy for him, but he trusts you,” Renjun replies. It's a negative: Mark will never be comfortable with lying down like a dead weight and let others drug him. That dose that activates him, but that is never as much as he wants to, is another form of reminding him he doesn’t have any control. “This is a matter of leaving his well-being on other people's hands, so we wouldn't offer if we thought you could fuck up.”

“I know,” Donghyuck says. He's aware of how he looks from the outside. Despite his issues and his difficult personality at times, he's still a man keeping his own house and a tavern afloat. In the world’s eyes, he's responsible and reliable. “But you're overestimating me right now, Renjun, or you don't understand how much Mark means to me. I can't do _that_ every day, like a routine, it's just-” It would destroy them. Mark would never forget the shame, even if he recovered, and he would always feel in debt with him. Donghyuck swallows the urge to cry and utters, “I can learn for emergencies.”

That's not the outcome Renjun hoped for. Disappointment blasts across his face, and Donghyuck wishes he could feel bad, but it's the right decision. Renjun loves and understands Mark, he touches spaces inside his head that are out of reach for Donghyuck, and yet, he still can't grasp how their relationship works. Donghyuck and Mark sculpted their own universe, with their own rules, and they don’t know how to play by everyone else's rules.

“Okay,” Renjun accepts, and that's definitive. He unclenches around Donghyuck’s hand, but his concern and that need to console Donghyuck linger between them. “I also wanted to talk about the trip, because it’s the first time we’re leaving the island since we arrived and- it's the perfect chance for Mark to run away.”

For a few seconds, the noise of _Footloose_ playing in the living room is loud and shrill in Donghyuck’s ears, but Renjun's determination is a roar that blankets over it.

“He would run away from us?” Donghyuck repeats, careful, as though materializing those words will turn them into an unavoidable premonition. “Just like that?”

A crease cuts through Renjun’s forehead, skepticism at Donghyuck's incredulity. It's the instantaneous confirmation that he was right: he's overestimating Donghyuck's skills to measure how far Mark would go to break away from supervision.

Donghyuck is the weak link in Mark's chain, and if the right time comes, Mark will begin by toppling him first.

“Yeah. I mean, he's not going to sprint through a crossroad so that we can't catch him, but if we leave him alone, his mind will start coming up with very imaginative ideas,” Renjun assures him. With a shake of his head, as though he's trying to wipe out his worst memories, he explains, “He was a nightmare in Hollywood, Donghyuck. When we started to control him because it was getting out of hand, we couldn't even blink around him. Then he was gone, and he’d disappear for days. We always found him once he ran out of money and he had to use his credit card again. Only then we could track him down.”

Donghyuck can't imagine how scary that must have been. Mark could have been dead for days and they wouldn’t have known. He wonders where Mark went, if he had a bunch of people to back up his drug addiction, if whoever was handing him out the drugs was disposed to let him kill himself as long as they were filling his pockets with Mark's money. He wonders if they took advantage of Mark in other ways, too.

All the horrible stories Mark has told him to feed Donghyuck's decision. Being with Mark implies responsibilities that he can’t dismiss. Mark doesn't want to be sucked back into that world; he's broken and hurt and he wishes he had never been fooled into drugs and sex, but his addiction will manipulate him to believe otherwise.

“I'm not going to leave him alone,” Donghyuck hears himself say, though he doesn't recognize his own voice, so fierce, brimming with tenacity, that it should belong to another person.

“I know.” Renjun licks his lips, nervous, and settles a hand on his shoulder. “But don't _let him_ leave you alone.”

The trip to Thessaloniki is long, but the novelty makes it short for Donghyuck.

He stands on the prow of the ferry with Mark, and though Mark came to Skopelos through the same route just a few months ago, his gaze studies the sea with admiration and awe.

Donghyuck realizes that back then Mark couldn’t enjoy the trip, and that’s exactly what he asks him. Mark laughs at his question, at his lack of shame, but doesn’t deny his assumption. He doesn’t even remember the trip to Skopelos that well. He was swallowed in withdrawals and the terror of returning back home; even though he’s always loved the sea, at that moment the threatening depth under him was the omen of all his fears.

Now is the time for him to enjoy it, as they slant over the edge of the prow to look down, and a million water drops splash on them. Donghyuck runs his hand through Mark’s hair, humid between his fingers, just to revel in the smile that slaps across his mouth.

They stay outside until they take land, talking from time to time, even though neither of them needs words to enjoy their privacy.

Donghyuck doesn't even have to pick up his suitcase, since Jaemin drags it outside for him, throwing him a knowing, mischievous glance. The rest of the trip isn't as fun; Mark has to wear his cap from then on to cover his face, and that seems to trigger a slightly bad mood that not even Donghyuck can pull him out of.

Luckily, there are big cars available in the renting house, so they don't have to cram inside or separate, and Mark can get rid of his cap right away. Mark pull him with him so that they sit in the back of the car, a choice Donghyuck doesn't understand until Mark embraces him and presses his face against his chest with a hum; it's not the best place to be intimate, but Donghyuck reckons that the second row was a worse option. Only Renjun can watch them from the rearview mirror, and Donghyuck is sure he isn't particularly interested in them.

By the time they reach the hotel, and after Jeno had to drive the last hour because Renjun was falling asleep, all of them are exhausted. The night is deep but still warm, and the six of them pad into the hotel with a sensation of immense relief.

The hotel isn't anything special. Mark decided to pay, but none of them expected any luxury. Jaemin chose the most decent hotel he could find, but the vital requisite was being close the club. Proximity is their priority: being able to go back fast if necessary, to hide if trouble arises.

“Are you sure you don't want to room with Jeno?” Jaemin asks Renjun as he hands him the key of his room. Donghyuck passes by them without sparing them a glance, since Mark is already at the end of the hall looking for their room. “I don't mind staying with Doyoung. I'm not awkward with strangers.”

“I meant it, Jaemin, it's fine,” Renjun retorts, laughing at his insistence. He deemed that sharing a room with Doyoung would be the best idea, instead of indulging the idea of staying with Jeno. Mark refused to sleep with Doyoung, shamelessly claiming that it would be a torture for him, and after all, no one except Renjun is familiar with him. “We'll kick you out if I change my mind, don't worry.”

It's a pity for Jeno and Renjun, who could have spent a whole weekend with a room for themselves, but given all of them are on the same floor, Donghyuck is secretly glad with the arrangement.

“Faster, faster,” Mark ushers him, the key already in the lock. There's a subtle smile pulling at his lips when he jokes, “I'm sick of seeing their faces.”

Against all odds, Jeno hears him and hurls at him a very complex insult that resonates all over the hall. They drown in silence for a moment, shocked, aware that other customers must have caught that, and then Jaemin bends over with laughter. Renjun has already learned a wide variety of bad words in Greek, and he looks mortified as he slips into his bedroom, before anyone can come out and tell them to lower their voices.

Much to Donghyuck's shock, there's a full grin on Mark's face when they meet eyes, such a beautiful smile that it knocks Donghyuck off his feet. He clasps his hand against the door for support, but Mark doesn't seem to notice his instability. He should be too sober for this, but contrary to expectations, Mark looks radiant right now, no tension in his body and mirth in his gaze. He looks so pretty that Donghyuck wishes he could tiptoe and kiss him on the mouth without regrets.

If this is what freedom does to him, Donghyuck thinks, he’ll break all the bars of Mark’s birdcage. He can't understand why leaving Skopelos is a liberating experience for Mark, but the result is dazzling, addicting, and Donghyuck would give up his ideals just to see Mark happy for a few hours.

“You're such a bad friend,” Donghyuck breathes out, his heart beating so hard in his ears that he barely perceives his own voice.

Mark is too close, and as his gaze roams over Donghyuck, the closeness becomes asphyxiating. They used to be attached at the hip all the time, and day by day, gesture by gesture, that habit is creeping onto them again. Maybe the lack of consideration is accidental: Mark doesn’t suspect the effect he can have on Donghyuck or, given all the nights they’ve spent together, Donghyuck should have grown immune.

But he hasn’t. Now that they're alone in a hotel room in an unknown city, Donghyuck doesn’t perceive the limits of their relationship. He stares at Mark with new brand eyes, because Mark looks different, resembles the happiness of his old self.

And he’s close, just the caress of a feather between them, but Donghyuck wants him even closer, wants to explore every inch of him without the fabric of their clothes in the way. It's so, so unfair. He fists his hands against the door, behind his back, in an attempt to repress the instinctive pull towards Mark.

“I am,” Mark admits to play along. He tilts his head to the side, a spark of hesitation in his gesture, as though he's worried for Donghyuck, but his contentment devours it within a second. “But if hogging you makes me a bad friend, then I'll take that title.”

Donghyuck despises the thrumming of his heart, which accelerates his whole body without mercy. He despises how his first impulse is to reach for Mark's face, to stroke down his cheek and sweep his hair behind his ear, and how he yields into it at last. Mark is so tuned into his thoughts that the only response is a shaky breath, and Donghyuck can't help but smile up at him, appreciating those little signs that tell him that Mark is still there, that he can still feel and suffer, for better or for worse.

“Are you excited?” Donghyuck asks in a whisper.

The answer is in front of his eyes, but the urge of bathing in it is irresistible. And Mark, instead of shying away, indulges him.

“Yes.” He follows Donghyuck's hand with his own, caresses over his fingers as Donghyuck feels his neck, his chest, his abdomen. Whether it's on purpose or not, Mark is firm over him, calling for his touch, wishing to press harder against Donghyuck's palm. And then, he shoots Donghyuck an impish, “Are you happy because I'm excited?”

That's their little connection, their mutual feedback. One of those abilities they had lost with Mark's departure, and that Donghyuck never hoped to salvage; that felt like the end of the tunnel for them, like Donghyuck would be too demanding if his expectations were set so high.

But there it is: Mark's happiness makes him happy too. It's undeniable and, underneath, it's also terrifying, that power of breaking havoc that none of them can control.

Donghyuck doesn't know why that realization scrapes at his coyness with nails and teeth, but it does. Mark's happiness has the ability to take off all his clothes and leaving him bare and exposed, and he's not ready for that, not yet.

“Don't be so nosy,” Donghyuck says at last, scrunching his nose up at him. “You always want more answers, but you have to earn them first.”

His thorns are a weak stunt, and Mark knows every trick that he’s hiding under his sleeve. Donghyuck isn’t rejecting his questions; otherwise he wouldn't curl a hand around his head, and he would flinch away as Mark leans down and closes his eyes, rubbing the tip of their noses against each other

Donghyuck isn't scared of this. Their breaths mingle, and with the little distance between their parted lips, he can imagine the warmth he would find in Mark's kisses.

But Mark won't demolish that last inch between them. He knows that he can't, that this little whim would undo all their hard work, and worst of all, that Donghyuck wouldn't be able to tell the amount of honesty in his decisions. Donghyuck allows him that freeing fantasy; he allows that happy tale to form inside his head, too.

Then Donghyuck detaches from him, just enough to stare into Mark's blurry, lost stare, and muses, “I think you need a shower.”

It works like a charm. Mark scoffs at the insinuation, conscious that Donghyuck is just trying to push him away, and his hands harden around Donghyuck's hips one last time before letting go.

“God, how rude,” Mark complains, straightening up in an attempt to save his pride. He arches only his left eyebrow at Donghyuck, charged with arrogance as he inspects Donghyuck's aspect. Donghyuck is sure that he looks as tired and dirty as Mark, but that’s now where Mark’s mind is going, since he whispers, “Want to come in with me?”

Fluster ripples through Donghyuck, but he shoves Mark away, and their laughter rings across the hotel room in unison. Mark’s joke is electrifying; not for the meaning it holds, but because he’s been off his drugs for hours, and the slope in his mood should be sharp and drastic. His endurance today, despite the trip and the fear of being recognized in public, doesn’t follow any logic.

“Get out of here,” he grunts at Mark, even though he playfully grasps at his jacket as he walks past him. “Or I'll make you sleep on the floor tonight.”

His threats are empty, and judging the look Mark dedicates him before disappearing into the bathroom, Donghyuck is as transparent as water for him.

It's the first time they visit Thessaloniki, so during the day, they decide to walk around and explore the city. Compared to Skopelos, all places look huge to Donghyuck, but no place is green enough, always covered in grey buildings and a number of houses that that pile up all around the city.

It's just different, Jeno tells him. It has its own charm, its own life, but Donghyuck is old-fashioned and attached to his roots, and both the size and the cramped nature of the city overwhelm him.

Mark is the opposite. Even though he's seen half of the world, has traveled to the most exotic places to promote his movies and even to film them, there's still curiosity in his eyes as they wander through the streets. Donghyuck latches onto his silent enthusiasm, hoping it will infect him too, but Mark’s emotions are buried under his cap. Absorbing his emotions through mere glances is an art Donghyuck has mastered, and Mark seems to read his wishes, meeting eyes when Donghyuck falls into silence.

They retire early at night, aware that if they have to spend most of the night outside, they will need to rest for a couple of hours. Mark nests on their bed while Donghyuck slips into the shower; Renjun gave him his dose in the morning, and tonight will be the first time he’ll stay away instead of drifting off to sleep, so the strength of his withdrawals is a mystery for him. He already looks exhausted, and when Donghyuck comes out only with a towel around his hips, he takes his time to observe the dark circles on his face and the subtle twitch of his legs, which hint that this is a restless nap that won't solve anything.

Donghyuck is slipping into a pair of baggy jeans when Renjun bangs on their door, startling Mark awake and sending Donghyuck into a heart attack. They exchange a look, as if to ask for permission, and Mark points at the door with his chin.

Contrary to what Donghyuck expects from him, Renjun merely hands him a bundle of clothes through the crack of the door and orders, “Put this on.”

And when Donghyuck shoots him a skeptical look, Renjun paints a falsely nice smile for him and adds, “Please?”

It’s just a pair of jeans, but Donghyuck scans them before accepting them in resignation. Renjun makes a noise of satisfaction and parts his lips to bark a triumphant retort at him, so Donghyuck closes the door in his face.

“Just indulge him this time,” Mark advises him from the bed, voice groggy. His eyes are half-closed, but his semblance alone betrays his amusement; Donghyuck reckons that from his perspective, it must be fun to witness how Renjun tries to toy with him. “He'll pester you for days if you don’t. His favorite pastime is trying to manage everyone, not only me.”

Donghyuck sighs at that, throwing the jeans onto the bed. Mark rolls over and tugs at the pants, and upon recognizing what Renjun gifted him, a lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“Don't laugh,” Donghyuck warns him, protesting. He's so used to wearing comfortable, simple clothes that Renjun's tight jeans will be a nightmare, but the interest in Mark's eyes is enough to convince him. “This is not _me_.”

Mark doesn't contradict him, but he rests his cheek on his forearm and observes him with a dull stare as he changes clothes. There's nothing sexual about his scrutinizing attitude, and still Donghyuck feels strangely flustered, since he doesn't understand when this started happening, when they deemed each other's bodies familiar. Both of them have flourished into a new shape, curves and hard edges that are unknown for each other, so it’s not a matter of growing up together.

Mark's thoughts are undecipherable, and Donghyuck always fears he's doing the wrong thing for him, pulling him into the depths of the ocean so that they sink together. Maybe Donghyuck's nakedness doesn't help Mark, or maybe it does: there's a chance that it reminds him that not every move leads to sex, that Donghyuck's body is just a body, not another sexual piece in a game, not an object.

“You'll still look pretty,” Mark concludes, but his gaze is perched on Donghyuck’s face, not on his legs, or in the shape of the jeans around his hips.

And for both of them, that seems to be enough.

Ahududu is an inconspicuous club hidden in a maze of streets, safe from intrusive eyes and wrapped in the heat of the narrow paths around it.

They have to follow the masses at first, since neither Jeno nor Jaemin knows the exact location of the club. Asking around is dangerous. Even if the club surged one year ago, the fact that its fame reached them means that the bystanders are aware of its existence. It’s not a secret, but a secret in the open that no one talks about.

Renjun proposes choosing a couple of suspects and trailing after them, and as usual, he’s right. The two young men who they decide to spy on escort them to Ahududu, as though they intuit their intentions, and Jeno skids to the door with a huge smile on his face. There's a poster about the party by the door, somewhat worn away, with a half-naked man full of muscles, which drags out of a frantic laugh from Jaemin. That’s not what hoards Jeno's attention, though, but the green messy letters that form a _Greek party_.

“It's a traditional party,” Jeno announces, repeatedly digging his finger into the poster. His expression radiates enthusiasm, and Donghyuck can't pinpoint the reason until Jeno glances at Renjun and claims, “You got lucky, Jun.”

Donghyuck studies Renjun's reaction. It's obvious he has never attended a Greek party – there’s an intrigued glint in his pupils as he inspects the poster next to Jeno. Donghyuck doubts the party will stick to all of the proper aspects of it, but for Mark and Renjun, who are used to celebrities' parties, this might be a good change of scenery.

“Did I?” Renjun responds, almost cooing at Jeno. Jeno fumbles with his own words, but he has no time to answer before Renjun speaks again. “You’ll teach me how to dance?”

None of them ever discover if Jeno is disposed to teach him how to dance or not, since Renjun slips inside and yanks Jeno by the hand. The noise coming from inside is deafening, and their friends' laughter and chatter are swallowed by the music. Jaemin swirls around, winks at Mark and Donghyuck, and follows suit, leaving them their own space.

Mark wordlessly stands next to him, but when Donghyuck dedicates him all his attention, his stare is already anchored on Donghyuck. It's an unwavering, serious stare that, Donghyuck has learned, just denotes his nervousness.

He has a hundred reasons to be on edge. Donghyuck's imagination will never reach the severity of Mark's wounds, but he knows when to press, when to let go, and when to stop the bleeding. And now, as Donghyuck adjusts Mark's cap over his head so that he feels that false sensation of security, there’s a small wound that shuts close under Donghyuck’s gestures.

“Wanna dance? I know you don’t need any lessons from me, but I’ll let you use that excuse,” Donghyuck teases him, and Mark scoffs before shoving him inside.

The club doesn't have any bouncers. They don't charge them any money for entering, and when Donghyuck approaches the bar, he discovers that the bartenders are prone to giving them free drinks if they chat them up long enough.

However, Mark isn't allowed to drink tonight. The tavern is a controlled space for him, where it's easy to fix a mistake or to avoid it at all costs, but a gay club in another city, hours away from Skopelos, is one of the worst places to drown Mark in alcohol. Donghyuck just takes a couple of shots and then halts, since he's the chaperone tonight, and overall, because he wants to enjoy the night with Mark.

The ambient inside Ahududu is pretty familiar. Most people seem to know each other, but they don't hesitate to approach them and ask where they're coming from. Donghyuck supposes that they inevitably stand out, even if Mark doesn't speak to anyone and keeps his head down when strangers try to peek at him.

If anyone recognizes Mark, they don't mention it. The club is their little secret, and secrets like this one are dangerous for them. For Mark, for the young boy laughing by the bar, for the owner, and even for Donghyuck.

When Jeno told him that he just wanted to be free with Renjun for one night, this is what he was referring him to. They dance with strangers, with a couple of girls that seem to find Jaemin's invitations hilarious, and with each other. Jeno and Renjun refuse to part at first, but Donghyuck slips between them and forces Renjun to dance with him. He teaches him a couple of wrong moves so that he embarrasses himself later in front of Jeno, but he doesn't have the chance to keep an eye on him.

Once Mark relaxes, he’s all Donghyuck perceives. Mark dancing with him, Mark taking his hand, Mark's smile lighting up in the darkness of the club, Mark laughing into his ear when they clash against each other. Donghyuck detaches from reality and falls into the dream that Mark crafts for him, wishing he could have a dream for him too, a little snow globe where Mark could live forever. That's how Donghyuck feels tonight: Ahududu is their snow globe, shaken by invisible hands that prompt them to dance and laugh, that bring Mark to caress Donghyuck's face and pretend he's going to kiss him just to draw away in the last moment.

Donghyuck doesn't mind his games. He feels kissed by Mark's laughter, by the flames in his eyes when they lock in a long, mutual gaze. It's the warmest, deepest kiss Mark has ever given him, and Donghyuck doesn't need anything else.

“Give me a second,” Mark tells him, shout whispering over the music and the dozen of voices singing and talking. He strokes Donghyuck's hair out of his face, but messy locks of hair fall on his forehead right away; they've danced for so long that he must look like a mess, sweaty and tired, but Mark gazes at him like he's the prettiest thing in this world. “I'll be back in a minute, yeah?”

Donghyuck twirls on the dance floor, stubbornly watching Mark’s moves. He trusts him, but their dependency is mutual, and anxiety rises in his throat at the prospect of losing sight of Mark. He trusts him better when Mark is around. His figure stops by the bar, though, and stays there for a couple of minutes, every beat of Donghyuck's heart measuring the countdown.

The music shifts around him, and with a sigh, Donghyuck lets his eyelids drop. He doesn't need to watch Mark, not now – his intentions are so obvious that Donghyuck can fake ignorance for the sake of his little surprise. He tips his head back, the world dizzy around him, and waits for the flapping wings of the flowers to fall on him.

The carnations Mark bought for him are red; even in the scarce light of the club, red flashes before Donghyuck's eyes as Mark showers him with flowers. The white of Mark's smile is a pleasant contrast, and Donghyuck mirrors him on instinct. Not many people are throwing carnations yet, but it’s part of the celebration, a tradition that Mark never cared about, until now.

Mark steals one of the carnations caught in Donghyuck’s hair and swings it between his thumb and his index finger, showing it to Donghyuck. Asking for permission. Mark breathes into his space, and with trembling fingers, hooks the flower in Donghyuck's ear. It's a silly gesture, but the message overflows into Donghyuck, and for a split second, he feels like Mark has been by his side for the last five years. He feels like he knows him; this Mark that adores him, that would throw carnations at him and then would steal everything else from him – his solitude, his first love, his rancor.

“You look as beautiful as foolish,” is what Mark says, a few words that paint a smile on Donghyuck's face. And then Donghyuck tilts forward and presses that same smile in Mark's neck, hoping that tomorrow he will remember the ghost of his lips in a forbidden place. Mark’s arm steels around him, and even in the ruckus of the club, Donghyuck hears his faint gasp. “Want to breathe at last?”

Donghyuck nods, accepting the break. He dedicates his friends a curious glance one last time before Mark can yank him towards the bar, but Jeno and Renjun have disappeared from the dance floor, and Jaemin has his arms around a boy and his lips on his mouth. It feels like Donghyuck doesn’t belong to that world anymore.

Mark encircles his waist and they fall against the bar, looking for balance in each other. It's hot inside the club; Donghyuck is still sweating, and so is Mark, but he can't tell if it's from withdrawals or from the asphyxiating air around them. Despite that, they don’t complain about the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other, and Donghyuck closes his eyes and lets go, drowning the music in the deepest corner of his mind to hear Mark's breathing instead.

The club pulses around him, and he loses track of time, track of his thoughts even. This is the only place where they can do this, at least with other people around, and Donghyuck decides to enjoy it for the longest time possible. It’s Mark who breaks their peace, tenderly moving his hand between them.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Mark mutters, laughing into Donghyuck's hair. He waits for Donghyuck to nod, and then he looks into his gaze, a subtle, confused frown on his face. “Don't drink much while I'm gone, yeah?”

Donghyuck is too preoccupied with analyzing him to answer; by now he’s wired to read his symptoms before they can stomp on Mark. Apart from the scowl on his face, which surged from nowhere, he looks firm and healthy. It's almost a miracle that his body is granting him hours of freedom, but that brings Renjun's words back: this might be the beginning of a completely sober Mark, and the prospect is so thrilling that Donghyuck’s mind is fogged with excitement.

Maybe it's time.

Donghyuck lets him go, but he scans the whole club first and then follows Mark until he slips into the bathroom. Once he's alone, however, he becomes the target. A couple of men come up to him, and even though they're pretty nice, Donghyuck has to turn down their offers. This club isn't merely a spot for people to hook-up; they're looking for friends too, and their welcoming stance is meant for him, the lonely boy at the bar, to feel comfortable. That's a wish Donghyuck relates to. His life could have been much worse: his parents were supportive, and he was incredibly lucky to have Jeno, Jaemin and Mark around. Some people in this club weren't as lucky as him, and all of them want to forget about that on these nights.

When Donghyuck manages to drift away from the conversation, his heart skips a heartbeat. Mark. It's been minutes since he left, and Donghyuck's gaze automatically fixes on the bathroom's door. Even if the guys distracted him, Donghyuck would have never missed Mark leaving, since the bathroom is right in front of his eyes.

But it's been _minutes_ , Donghyuck is sure of that. More than five. More than ten, maybe. Mark should have been in and out. With the alcohol thrumming in his body, the sensation of panic grows like a dull patch of venom inside him. And then Donghyuck blinks, once, twice, and the realization hits him so hard that a loud noise of terror slips out of his mouth.

Mark left him alone.

Donghyuck isn't conscious of what he tells the boys, if he mutters anything at all. His own body weighs one million tons as he crosses the distance between the bar and the bathroom. It feels enormous, endless. It's impossible for his pupils to focus on any faces, on any object, but he has a hunch that he needs Renjun here, that he shouldn't be venturing into the bathroom by himself.

Deep within, Donghyuck prays for Mark to be in the bathroom. If he has escaped from him, after laughing, dancing and hooking a red carnation on his ear, Donghyuck is at fault. With Mark, his walls must be always up, but he allowed himself to believe for a couple of hours tonight, believed that they could be normal and happy, and now Mark is gone.

Donghyuck stumbles into the bathroom, the blood inside his head straining against his skull. There's just one boy facing the wall, and it's not Mark.

The shriek that explodes inside his chest breaks Donghyuck in two, but on the outside, his panic silences him. He runs between the stalls, and without a pinch of hesitation, he kicks the first stall open. It's empty.

But Donghyuck does the same with the next, so fast that he can't even feel the pain in his legs and in his fists, or the way he clashes against the edges, how he scratches his arms against the walls, the broken locks, the splinters on the doors.

And when he forces the last stall open and finds Mark there, the pain in his head is too intense for him to perceive the wounds in his own body. The door hits Mark's back, but the impact can't make him fall: he's already on his knees. In front of him there's a guy, with his pants down and his head thrown back in pleasure against the wall, fingers clutching on Mark's hair as he fucks into his mouth.

Donghyuck's heart beats so fast that in comparison, the world moves in slow-motion. He's barely conscious of his acts, but he feels the hot tears on his face, and the guy's yelp when Donghyuck tumbles forward and grabs Mark by his hair. There are screams, none from Mark, and intelligible words about promises and deals, and Donghyuck needs all his strength not to beat the man up right there. Mark falls backward, but Donghyuck can’t hear him, can’t even focus on him as he hauls him out of the stall.

He doesn't look at Mark. The path from the stall to the exit is interminable, and Donghyuck isn't sure if Mark apologizes, or if he's too shocked to utter a single word, a single sound, or if his mind is stuck on the guy in the bathroom, yearning for that moment that could alleviate months of abstinence and rigorous recovery.

Donghyuck wants to stop feeling, but he can't. This is his fault. It's only his fault.

The club's noise rattles in his ears, and Donghyuck thrusts everyone out of his way, looking for Renjun. Or Jeno, or Jaemin. Someone that can hold him, because he's not strong enough to hold Mark anymore, and if he crumbles down now, it's over for Mark too.

Renjun is the first one that appears in his vision, and given Donghyuck's semblance, one look is enough for him to understand. Perhaps his suppositions don't hit the bull's eye, but Renjun has so much experience with Mark that he knows guilt when it blooms in front of his eyes. The tears on Donghyuck's face are unmistakable, too, and Renjun orders Jeno to look for Jaemin and meet them outside.

From there on, Renjun takes the lead. He holds Donghyuck and Mark's hands and drags them to the exit at the speed of light. The air outside is colder, and it clears his mind, but Donghyuck doesn't appreciate the forced consciousness.

Unlike Donghyuck, Renjun isn't harsh with Mark, but he's firm. He sets him against the stone of the building, hitting his shoulders with one blow and forcing Mark to stare at him. Avoidance is Mark's first response, because even if he can't dodge Renjun's piercing glare, he still directs his eyes up to the sky.

That's how Renjun figures out that he won't confess, so he glances at Donghyuck instead.

Donghyuck vacillates, mustering all his courage to mutter, “He was with a man.”

It's not only Mark's failure, it's also his failure, and Renjun must understand that, because he doesn't ask for details. Somehow, those words hold more meaning for Renjun than for Donghyuck, even if he witnessed the scene himself.

“Why?” he asks Mark, clutching his chin. The corners of Mark's mouth travel down, a pout that hints at crying, that responds to the reproach in Renjun's tone. He's aware he has disappointed them, but if they gave him the chance, he would slither back into that bathroom. A hundred times. “What did he say to you?”

Mark's lips press into a line. To Donghyuck's shock, among the vast forest of guilt and shame in his eyes, there's also a glint of arrogance. There's a secret, and Mark isn't disposed to betray himself, or his own addiction, the wheels that control his whole being right now.

Renjun must have done this before, however, because without any explanation he shoves his hands into Mark's pockets. Donghyuck watches in horror, watches how Mark's first impulse is to fight Renjun, groaning while he attempts to shake his friend off him. It's impossible to decipher if his resistances surges from shame or from obstinacy, but it's proof that Donghyuck has misjudged him, that Mark isn't ready for this sort of freedom.

Jeno and Jaemin show up behind him in that exact moment, but the silence among them is infinite. The scene before them would leave anyone speechless, and when Jeno hugs him from behind, Donghyuck realizes he's too close to Renjun and Mark, that it's too dangerous for him to absorb a problem that only Renjun is trained to handle.

Upon Mark's behavior, Donghyuck isn't surprised when Renjun fishes the secret out of his pockets.

“It was for this?” Renjun grunts, flashing the white crystals in Mark's face. Mark doesn't even consider how humiliating his reaction is: for one last time, he attempts to steal it back from Renjun, though he only manages to send half of the load to the ground. The noise of desperation that he lets out makes Donghyuck want to vomit. Renjun pins him harder against the wall and hisses, “For this shit?”

A confirmation would be meaningless.

Within ten minutes, Mark found someone that could give him drugs, and since all his money was confiscated from him long ago, the only possible offer was sex. An infallible trick, because no one was going to reject a blowjob from a famous, pretty Hollywood boy. Mark's mouth is worth more than a bunch of money, and he knows that.

Donghyuck is certain that he would have gone further if he had the chance, that Mark would have accepted any deal just to get his double ration of indulgence.

“Did you take any?” Renjun insists, but he's softer this time. He searches for recognition in Mark's eyes. He can tell if Mark is high or not in a split second, but he wants to hear it from Mark, to prove if Mark will keep lying to him even if it's too late to pretend. “Tell me the truth, Mark.”

Donghyuck gazes away from them, legs trembling. The truth terrifies him. Jeno holds him in place and cages Donghyuck's body, a shield that gives him strength, but he still feels like he's melting, like he will collapse any moment. There are white spots in his vision, glinting among the orange lampposts and the musk of the night, and Donghyuck's soul yearns for Skopelos.

“I didn’t,” Mark whispers, determination broken. His stare zeroes on Renjun, as though he fears acknowledging that his friends are there too; perhaps Mark knows what he will find in them, because he's experienced this before. What is the end of the world for Donghyuck, for Mark is an old habit. “I promise.”

His promises are void of value.

He could be lying. The agony in his gaze as Renjun questions him could be an act. Mark has been doing that for five years, after all, on and off set. It's carved into him, and now Donghyuck wonders how much truth Mark has granted him, if anything at all. If Mark has been using him just to have a warm body pressed against him at night, or if he stills loves Donghyuck. If Donghyuck has been his stupid entertainment while he stays in Skopelos, an entertainment that will vanish once he flies back to Hollywood.

But Renjun decides to appease that promise. He sighs and holds both of Mark's hands in his, perhaps just to avoid that he'll pick up the remainders of dust in his pockets, that he'll take them before Renjun robs it all from him.

Donghyuck isn't sure. His big lesson tonight is that with Mark, the world is gray, it's never a yes or no, it's both at the same time and none at once.

“Can you call for a taxi?” Renjun spins his head to glance at Jaemin; his inner instinct is infallible, because Jaemin is the only one who stands on his own feet without trouble, without having to carry the weight of another person. “We're going back to the hotel.”

The nightmare doesn't end there.

Doyoung is at the entrance of the hotel, composure made of steel and expression is unreadable as he carefully guides Mark inside. Renjun convinces Jaemin and Jeno to go sleep, even though the four of them know that they won’t rest tonight. It's a request for privacy. They can't cram inside Mark's room and listen to his session, and there’s no point in staying in the hall for the whole night, so they obey without protesting.

Donghyuck refuses to accompany them. When Jaemin tugs at his hand, he pushes him away, too worked up to show any delicacy, pulled apart by the panic of abandoning Mark. There's a spark of pain in Jaemin's gaze, but he doesn't argue with Donghyuck, and he retreats into his room as soon as Renjun sends him a reassuring nod.

Renjun and Donghyuck stand alone in the hall for a couple of minutes, waiting for Doyoung to give them green light to enter. The temptation of bursting into the room is immense, but Renjun seizes his wrist with so much strength that Donghyuck feels his fingers go numb.

“If you want to stay, you have to be stronger than this,” Renjun warns him.

The sharp edge of his voice kicks Donghyuck back to reality, reminds him that this isn't about him, but about Mark. At the club, Renjun was as worried for Mark as he was for him, because Donghyuck proved that he couldn’t do this alone. Donghyuck won't be allowed to care for Mark if he can’t face reality, because Mark needs them more than Donghyuck needs him.

“I'm kicking you out if you cry again,” Renjun continues, squeezing Donghyuck's wrist harder. Renjun’s roughness is what keeps Donghyuck sane. He isn’t trying to shun him, or to ban him from Mark’s life, just making sure that he doesn’t drag Mark into a darker place tonight. “Not now, it's not the moment.”

As long as Donghyuck intends to be Mark's support, he has to swallow his own feelings. That's exactly what he does, in the hall of this rotting hotel at the edge of dawn, every second tickling in his inner clock like a knife. The terror of confronting Mark isn't comparable to how much he yearns to prove that despite his fall tonight, Donghyuck can rebuild him piece by piece. That shouldn’t be his mission. Judging the warning look Renjun dedicates him, his impatience could be lethal.

After an eternity, the door clicks open and Doyoung appears, frenetically looking for Renjun. Donghyuck's presence is a surprise for him, and though Doyoung has always worn his hardest façade for him, now he doesn't bother to hide his emotions.

Renjun owns the right to make all the final decisions for Mark, whether his therapist approves it or not, and tonight is that sort of night. Donghyuck has no idea what he's getting himself into, and as he steps into the bedroom, he focuses on controlling his own body, the spike in his own anxiety and the urge to vomit.

Against Donghyuck's expectations, Mark is on his feet, gaze set on the floor and his hands gripping the console table. Donghyuck imagined that he would be crying, but he's not; again, his semblance is unreadable, like on that first night they met at the tavern. He wears his shield over his shoulders, his mask sits on his features, and Donghyuck can’t pierce through his layers.

And still, Mark looks like a cornered animal that knows that death is inevitable, that he has nowhere to run away to.

Renjun sits on the bed, right in front of Mark, and signals Donghyuck to do the same. Doyoung stalls by the door, arms crossed and gaze dodging the scene. He's not there to witness what's going to happen, but to control that it doesn't get out of hand, that he doesn't have to intervene to help Renjun. It makes a terrible amount of sense: it wouldn't be the first time Mark assaults a manager, and none of them has the certainty he isn't drugged, even if they decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Donghyuck fists his hands over his thighs, fists pale without blood, and stares up at him. This mystery is only a mystery for him; everyone else in the room knows the protocol, knows what comes next, and that’s the reason Mark is frozen on his spot.

“Strip.”

Donghyuck spins to look at Renjun in horror. That single word punches through him with so much force that he nearly gags, nausea bitter in his mouth. For a second, Donghyuck convinces himself that he has misheard him, that Renjun would never force Mark to strip, and even less with witnesses.

But Renjun's expression is as cold as stone, and instead of acknowledging Donghyuck’s shock, he dismisses him off with a wave of his hand.

Mark utters a pleading, “Renjun-”

“Strip,” Renjun repeats, straightening up his shoulders. “Or I'll do it.”

It's not the first time they go through this, that's Donghyuck's most potent conclusion. Renjun has a hand behind his back, curled, his nails digging into his palm with so much strength that he's about to break skin. It's not the first time, but it's evident that Renjun thought he would never have to put Mark in this situation again.

They have a new visitor tonight, however, and that's where Mark's gaze lands: on Donghyuck. His front is harsh and rigid. His words, on the other hand, aren't.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers in pure defeat, and then he obeys Renjun.

Mark starts with his shoes. There's nothing in them, but when he rolls his socks down, the first couple of pills fall to the floor. They're nothing special, Donghyuck realizes; just two white circles that have the power to destroy all the trust he had on Mark.

That discovery explains this spectacle, allows Donghyuck to comprehend why Renjun deems it a vital phase after Mark’s big misstep.

Maybe it was his fault, but Mark's decisions weren't based on a moment of weakness. He was sober and desperate, and his logic worked in ways that Donghyuck's mind would have never predicted. Not only did he trade drugs for sex, but also had the foresight to hide them in case he got caught and frisked.

Putting some of it inside his pockets was just a small trap for them, a show. If Donghyuck hadn't resorted to Renjun, that's the only place he would have inspected, and Mark would have gotten away with his plan. But as Mark's sheds his clothes one by one, Donghyuck discovers that the hideouts are countless.

Under his belt, in his underwear, in secret pockets inside his jacket, in the hem of his jacket, too, folded to keep them in place. Donghyuck doesn't recognize the drugs, but he observes them in confusion and disappointment, wondering why Mark has gone so far, why he has ruined tonight, but also the last few months together.

When Mark stands naked in front of them, Donghyuck doesn’t look at him anymore. Renjun picks up the clothes without a word, and Doyoung hands Mark his pajamas, maneuvering him to the opposite side of the bedroom, a measure to avoid he will sneak some of the drugs into his new clothes. Mark is so small, so vulnerable after this torture that the idea seems insane to Donghyuck.

But tonight has proven that when it comes to Mark's addiction, there isn’t any reason to confide in him. His weakness is a prison, and no matter if he fights against himself, part of him will always prompt him to find the hole in the wall that leads him outside. Away from the cage that is supposed to heal him, away from Renjun, and away from Donghyuck.

The switch in Renjun's attitude is immediate.

Mark needs to spend some time with Doyoung again, and as soon as they step out of the room, Renjun jerks him into his embrace for a hug. Donghyuck doesn't respond, not at first. The series of events is a scheme that his brain can't compute fast enough. One moment he hates Mark, then he hates Renjun too, rancor creeping on him for all the things he's witnessed tonight; the next second Mark apologizes to him, only to him, and in the end Renjun wraps his arms around him and lets him cry at last.

It's that eternal dilemma: Donghyuck isn't conscious of how much he needs that hug until he crumples in Renjun's arms. Once he's honest with his own feelings, accepting Renjun’s consolation is easier, almost vital.

“Come here,” Renjun muses, holding him so hard that, instead of feeling like he can't breathe, Donghyuck feels like Renjun is the glue that keeps him in one piece. “You can talk to Doyoung too, if you want to.”

Renjun is thin and, compared to Donghyuck, weak. He hasn't lived a life of physical work, of running up and down hills with his friends, but somehow his embrace is a comforting place, a mountain full of caves where Donghyuck can take refugee. Perhaps because he had to do this for Mark, he knows how and where to touch, he knows that silence and warmth are all Donghyuck needs now.

Having a session with Doyoung might be a good idea, but Donghyuck despises it. His struggles stem from inexperience, and that doesn't make him worthy of receiving that help that is meant for Mark. Donghyuck doesn’t want to add up to the problem.

Burrowing himself in the crook of Renjun's neck, Donghyuck muses, “I fucked up.”

The shake of Renjun's head is subtle. “It's not your fault, Donghyuck,” he says, and it's not a lie, it's not just a consolation so that Donghyuck doesn't blame himself and they don't have to worry about it. “I can assure you that.”

The most rational side of his brain agrees, but the memory of Mark in that bathroom, on his knees, overpowers it. It's a mixture of pity, the sensation of betrayal, all his efforts cut into pieces in the span of ten minutes, after months of fixing themselves day by day, second by second. Not just his efforts, but _their_ efforts. Jealousy, even, and the deep certainty that Mark doesn't love him, because no one would be cruel enough to make him feel loved and then dip on his knees for another man, for a dose.

Donghyuck knows that those thoughts are selfish as well, but he can't get rid of them. He knows that's not how Mark's addiction works, nor is the way he loves. This isn't about Donghyuck, or about if Mark loves him. It has never been.

“I let him go,” Donghyuck utters, a confession that could change everything, but that it doesn’t. Renjun’s arms remain around him, and he doesn’t hate him for making a mistake.

“We shouldn't have to monitor him even to the bathroom,” is what Renjun retorts. He moves his head away, sliding his hands up Donghyuck's neck so that he withdraws, and orders, “Look at me.”

Donghyuck does. There are tears on his face, but he doesn't realize how hard he's crying until Renjun thumbs over his cheeks, an attempt to dry the salt away from his skin. Donghyuck doesn't have room inside him to feel ashamed. But his tears don’t faze Renjun. He understands every detail of his feelings; Renjun has already experienced the torment Donghyuck lived tonight, and thus it doesn't terrify him anymore. It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t affect him.

If Renjun has survived, so will Donghyuck.

Donghyuck lets out a dry laugh, feeling stupid before Renjun's perfect composure, and croaks out, “I'm sorry.”

“You're learning too, right?” Renjun smiles at him for a split second, his firm hand forcing Donghyuck’s gaze to stay on him. “You need to have this in mind, Donghyuck. You're probably angry at him, and sad and disappointed. Mark knows that, because he's provoked these situations enough times to see what happens around him afterwards. You have the right to feel that way, too.”

“I don't want to feel like that,” Donghyuck cuts off.

He wishes he could erase all those ugly feelings towards Mark. He's not used to them growing so big. The bitterness that he harbored for Mark since he left is a playground compared to this.

“But you do, and no one should force you to change that,” Renjun insists. His confession lies behind those words: Renjun himself isn't immune to Mark's antics, not even if he's memorized all of them by now. “The thing is Mark needs to know that you won't give up on him just because he's hurt us. He doesn't do it on purpose, but he's going to spiral into frustration and self-hatred if he feels that we won't forgive him.”

Believing someone is a monster turns them into a monster. Donghyuck can asses to that, for every time Mark expected him to look at him with disgust, every time Donghyuck didn't, and the mellow confusion that blew Mark into a better version of himself.

Maybe it would be easier for Mark to look into Donghyuck's gaze and confirm that it's over, that Donghyuck has reached his limit. It would be the justification not to try anymore; if Mark loses that possible life that waits for him beyond his addictions, he has no reason to leave his vicious circle.

“I'm not going to turn my back on him,” Donghyuck guarantees. He hopes to remember that in the future, because if this is what Mark has in store for him, he'll have the temptation to leave sooner or later. He looks at Renjun's face, as though his credulity will fasten Donghyuck's promises. “Do you think I would?”

“I thought you'd have done it by now,” Renjun admits, “but you're still here.”

Speechless, Donghyuck parts his lips to complain. Renjun's honesty is brutal, and so is Mark's, but their brutality differs in their essence. While Renjun never hides it, Mark stuffs it away from people's eyes until the explosion sprinkles everyone around him.

“Should I sleep with him tonight?” Donghyuck asks. He glances at the door, not certain that will be his room anymore. Somehow it has become Mark's hole, a nightmare within four walls, and Donghyuck might not belong there anymore. “Or will you?”

Renjun lets his hands fall down, but his gaze inspects Donghyuck with a spark of astonishment. It's impossible to distinguish if it surges from judgment or mere surprise, if Renjun deems him crazy for wanting to spend the night with Mark after all, or if he relates to hitting the bottom of the barrel to that extent.

“You speak as if I can control your relationship, Donghyuck,” Renjun observes. And when Donghyuck stares at Renjun, he does it with a new light: of course he's given him rules and warnings about how far Donghyuck can go with Mark, but that manual has never belonged to Renjun. If he had intended to chain their relationship, he would have never allowed Mark to be alone with him. “If you want to sleep with him, then do it. It's not my business if you talk about it, or if you don't, or if you two just ignore it until it passes.”

There are directions for Donghyuck to treat with Mark's addictions, but Mark isn't just his addictions. The boy is still there, and there are no directions for that. Donghyuck has been navigating without a map since the beginning, and it's in his hands to draw the map for them, with all its mistakes, secret passages, and roads that lead nowhere.

The world is waking up when Donghyuck quietly shuffles into the room again.

The curtains are closed, but through the fractures between them, the early light of the sunrise illuminates Mark’s silhouette on the bed. He’s barefoot, his white pajamas contrasting against the dark green of the covers, and his thighs are pressed against his chest. He’s petrified, his forehead on the curve of his knees and his black hair resting over his kneecaps.

Donghyuck’s entrance doesn’t stir a reaction, not a physical one. He’s already crying, however, and Donghyuck doubts he has the strength to express his pain any other way. Doyoung assured him that it shouldn’t scare Donghyuck, that Mark wouldn’t reject him just because he’s crying.

As he approaches the bed with wavering steps, Donghyuck feels like an old marionette that is losing limbs one by one. Following his instinct is useless, because he’s scared, because he’s always been a bit scared of Mark – of loving him, of losing him – so he follows what his heart wants instead.

Mark welcomes him with silence, almost with disregard. But then Donghyuck hugs him from behind, a soft touch at first that toughens as he secures his arms around Mark's frame, and he responds.

Mark leans back against him, between Donghyuck's legs, and desperately looks for Donghyuck's hands over his abdomen. He can’t discern panic from relief, but Mark's grasp on him is so urgent that Donghyuck has to repress a yelp of pain. Mark seems to have forgotten how to hold hands, and he needs Donghyuck to lead his trembling hands the right way. Even when their fingers fit, Mark’s hands keep shaking.

Tucking his chin on Mark's shoulder, Donghyuck allows himself to cry too. Mark is in his own world, and though he clings onto him for support, he doesn’t notice Donghyuck's tears.

“Please, Hyuck,” Mark whispers, voice rough and fractured.

Those first words are almost intelligible, and Donghyuck waits and waits, wondering if Mark meant to speak at all. His cries muffle his next attempts, but Donghyuck is patient and oblivious, and doesn’t know that the best response is to silence him.

Mark tries, a dozen times until he manages to spit, “I’ll stay with you if you give them back.”

In the heat of the room, Donghyuck feels like ice is cutting through him.

And once Mark has pulled the trigger, he finds courage to continue, as breaching through that last barrier has destroyed his pride and his morals, his logic and his sense of empathy.

“I’ll stay in Skopelos with you, I promise, if you just let me-” Mark chokes on his own words. “If you give them to me, I'll be fine. I won't leave you-”

The noise of agony that rips through Donghyuck's throat drowns his words, but they burn inside Donghyuck's mind until they're perfectly carved there, unforgettable and violent. There's no trace of delicacy as Donghyuck clasps his hand over Mark's mouth, so hard that he's sure he hurts him. It doesn’t matter.

Donghyuck isn't strong enough to bear those promises. The cruelty of Mark's attempts could wreck him, could make him consider, even for a moment, to give into his requests just to have him forever. It's safer this way, with his palm blocking Mark's desperate promises, and the hope that he won't remember them tomorrow.

Donghyuck just wants to have Mark forever, but the boy in his arms is a ghost, and he’ll vanish into thin air once the sun is up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you insinuating that I should sleep with him?” Donghyuck hisses in a loud whisper, incredulous. White spots expand in his vision, the rise of anger tensing through his tendons, and he has to lean back on the edge of the stove not to lose balance. Mark’s hand twitches like he’s about to hold him, like he’s afraid Donghyuck will fall, but Donghyuck’s rowdy gaze keeps him in place. “Have you lost your mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god it took me SO LONG to update /lies on ao3's floor/ and i dont even know why but here we go. i've been busy lately so i have a few comments to answer on the last chapter, but i read them all i'll get to them soon! 
> 
> also, for those who suffered a lot in the last chapter, don't worry, this one is smooth <3

Mark sleeps all the way back to Skopelos.

Donghyuck becomes a ghost – becomes mute and invisible, a holder that can barely hold himself, but he persists for Mark. He sees nothing as they travel home, just the stars under his eyelids and the images replaying inside his head, again and again, with brighter colors and grayer feelings. He perceives nothing but a million sharp needles in his lungs and the hot swelling of his chest when he represses the urge of crying. The looks thrown in his direction fall numb and cushioned, as though Donghyuck is trapped in a bubble, and his friends' voices, their touches, bounce back on the surface.

His isolation is unbreakable. He cradles Mark in the car, his head on Donghyuck's thighs as he sweeps his fingers through his hair. Donghyuck doesn't want to be with him, and at the same time, he's incapable of letting go of him. Running away from the pain would be the smartest choice. Neither he nor anyone else deserves to suffer through Mark's episodes first-hand, but beyond that, beyond the sacrifice of staying by his side, Donghyuck's biggest fear is that Mark will evaporate if he dares to blink once.

No one tries to tear them apart, but their disapproval is palpable. Donghyuck is the only one who isn’t thinking about himself, about whether he needs space after last night – he knows that he doesn’t want it, and that’s more important than his needs. Jeno and Jaemin try to distract him in the car, all their kind-hearted intentions wretched in a pit, until their only remedy is to surrender to Donghyuck's obstinacy.

Having Mark next to him smoothens the edges of his anxiety, an apparent impression of safety that is brittle, but that's the story of his life. The world collapses when Mark is away, and Donghyuck has to erect every part again by himself. His life has always been conditioned by that: Mark’s drug addiction isn't an adding factor, just another reason to set on the growing pile of problems they had.

The ferry to Skopelos makes them part. Renjun hogs Mark then, refusing Donghyuck's advances with a strict shake of his head that awakens the most rebellious side of Donghyuck. He bites back the venom on his tongue, however, aware of the limitations between Mark and him, between Renjun and him. Renjun allowed him to cling onto Mark during the whole trip, but now that it's over, there are plans for him, plans that might or might not involve Donghyuck.

Even though he wants to hold Mark’s little pieces together, in his arms, it’s a decision that doesn’t belong to him.

When Donghyuck jumps over the gap between the ferry and the hard stone of the port, the warmth of Skopelos seems to have disappeared. The sun itches on his skin, but he feels terribly cold, feverish, and the irony of it makes Donghyuck smile to himself. He toggles his suitcase along and away from their friends and doesn’t glance back, running away from temporary goodbyes and looks that could tell him more than he wants to know.

Jaemin catches up to him and wraps a hand around his wrist, a silent sign that he’s not leaving Donghyuck alone now. His fingers are so hot that they burn on Donghyuck’s skin, a contrast to the coldness of Mark’s body last night. He doesn't mention it, but he lets Jaemin intertwine their fingers as they walk through the promenade projected over the sea. It seems infinite today, when Donghyuck just wants to escape. He doesn't know if their friends follow behind; he can't look back, because if he does, Donghyuck won't be able to leave Mark's side today either.

Only once they're climbing through the sloped streets towards Donghyuck's house, does he feel the certainty of freedom. But with or without Mark, freedom has its own terms. The warmth infiltrates into his bones at last as they cross paths with many neighbors that don't hesitate to greet them and ask about their weekend. That yanks Donghyuck into reality – into realization, that the world isn’t as dark and terrifying as Mark’s addiction paints it. Jaemin takes care of the idle conversation and the greetings, conscious that Donghyuck isn't in a proper state to pretend, and interlaces their fingers to walk faster as soon as he has a chance.

His home smells of dust and abandonment, an impression that, though it can't be real, feels so realistic that Donghyuck can't distinguish it from his imagination. From his imagination, or the guilt of leaving his home behind for Mark, who hasn't given him any reason to make sacrifices in the last five years. His only reason is the flame of life that awakens within him when Mark is in his embrace, when his pupils shine a bit brighter under the light, the consuming urge of making him happy at all costs.

Love wins it all, Donghyuck has heard. It wins over pride, logic and oneself, and he's not disposed to give into it again. Mark has a sort of involuntary power that has taught him a big lesson, one that almost destroys him in the process. It’s a point that he never thought as reachable. Love wins it all, but it should never be about power, not even if he’s the one controlling Mark.

“I'm staying with you,” Jaemin assures him as he thrusts his suitcase into the hall, the floor creaking under them. He observes Donghyuck's figure, no trace of worry on his face, just determination dyeing every tiny betraying gesture. “One night or a few nights, it doesn't matter.”

Donghyuck's lips twitch into frustration, the corners of his mouth slanting down. Loneliness isn't the most prudent choice, not after that weekend, but his gloomiest side is eager to wallow in self-pity. Maybe he needs to grant himself those moments of pain. The protection he’s set around himself isn't sustainable, and Jaemin must perceive that. If Donghyuck crashes down, Jaemin’s presence might turn into his only point of balance. It’s always been that way, since he lost his mom.

“You should go see your parents,” Donghyuck weakly utters, regardless, straying away from Jaemin's gaze.

Jaemin’s judgment is thick and tangible as Donghyuck tries to sneak out of sight, not giving him a chance to retort. Jaemin is faster than him, and also stronger, so he ends up helping him carry the suitcase upstairs. Donghyuck blames his lack of strength on how emotionally draining the last two days were, but he knows that for Jaemin, that doesn’t matter. He’d help anyway, and Jaemin doesn't dare point out that Donghyuck has neglected himself. It's not the right moment to draw attention to his obvious defeat, and if Jaemin is here, it's because he wants to make it better for him, not worse.

The downside of returning home is that Mark left clothes in his room, and Donghyuck senses the walls strain around him, an inhospitable cube impregnated with Mark's presence. It takes him an unimaginable resolve not to grab Mark's clothes and throw them out of the window, either to get rid of his trace or to untie all the frustration he's bottled up.

Jaemin doesn't merely study his movements; he trails after him, and when Donghyuck reaches out for the jacket that's hanging off the edge of the bed, he tucks his arm around Donghyuck's to drag him away.

Jaemin releases a sigh that tells a bigger story than a thousand words, and then insists, “No.” Donghyuck parts his lips to ask what's wrong, but Jaemin's pupils warn him that he shouldn't fight. He wants him to rest, not to obsessively order clothes and clean and rub at himself like he can erase Mark’s touch from his skin. “I'll stay.”

It's not just about providing company.

“That won't change anything, you know?”

Jaemin plants a hand on his back, fingers gracefully clenched, and a shiver sweeps Donghyuck off his feet.

“What's there to change?” he asks, lowering his voice. That detail in his words might have been imperceptible for someone else, but not for Jaemin. He's attuned to his attitude and the slight hints in his choice of words, and Donghyuck has unconsciously given him a string to unite them. Jaemin’s temper mellows, both his voice and his arms around Donghyuck, to say, “Donghyuck, what happened?”

The question is unavoidable, yet dangerous. Donghyuck has many reasons to blow off all his anger right there and right then, but at the same time, he has important reasons to keep it a secret. What Mark gave him was a poisoned sweet: brutal honesty that, if shared, could be a breach of his trust.

And Mark has failed him, or at least that version of him that craves for drugs more than for love did. That doesn't mean Donghyuck will renounce his values to silence his pain.

His jaw trembles from the effort as he munches out a harsh, “I can't tell you.”

Because he's incapable of replicate the same words Mark told him; there, safe inside his head, they remain unreal, a fable. His silence confers him an advantage. When it hurts too much, he can pretend it never happened, he doesn’t have to recognize the truth reflected on his friends' eyes. And he can let Mark pretend, too.

Jaemin cups his jaw, tenderly guiding Donghyuck's focus towards him. Confronting him is overwhelming, and even though Donghyuck keeps his head up, his eyes wander on Jaemin's collarbones for that spice of evasion.

“If I do, you'll hate him,” Donghyuck confesses, and that's a bigger secret than the one he intended to share, bigger than he's comfortable with.

Petrified by shock, Jaemin’s stillness is enough of an answer. This time, he has no response or consolation for him, because there isn't any, and Donghyuck feels reality breathe around him, tiny speckles of dust blurring his vision.

No one can shield Donghyuck from Mark, not now that he's dug so deep into the mud. But unlike them, Donghyuck can protect his friends from Mark's uncontrollable, miserable desperation. He can preserve their friendship, the bits of Mark that one day might ensemble back into him, and the untouchable fairytale of their childhood.

That way, if Donghyuck isn’t strong enough to stay in the end, Jeno and Jaemin will be.

The routine brings a false sensation of normalcy.

And anyhow, Donghyuck doesn’t have time to dwell into his pain. The new wave of tourists swamps the island, seduced by the warm temperature and the idyllic sights, and that translates into the tavern being full at all times. It’s good for the business, and even better for Donghyuck’s head.

Rumors about Mark Lee returning to his hometown have spread, and tourists follow the trail of hints to the tavern. In some cases, that seems to be the main attraction of the trip, but most of them aren’t brave enough to ask the residents where they can find him. Donghyuck despises the way word spreads around, the offhanded comments from the customers in the tavern, and their neighbors’ distasteful tendency to show off. Mark is thought to be entertainment, a show, another hook to draw people in, and Donghyuck swells with frustration while facing that grade of dehumanization for the first time.

Mark doesn’t work at the tavern after the trip, not at first. He disappears for days, but in practical terms, it’s a disappearance only in Donghyuck’s eyes. They’re still allowed to spend time with him, and while Jeno and Jaemin don’t hesitate to take that offer, Donghyuck’s reticence makes him reject it. No one forbids him to run to his door and visit him, and though his addiction to Mark crawls into him, deeper every day that goes by, Donghyuck decides that keeping their distance is the best for them. Jeno tries to convince him to join them, hopeful that having his friends around will ease the situation, but Donghyuck knows it would be a quick way to ruin it for them too.

Given Mark’s nature, that solitude is bound to be temporal. Doyoung and Renjun need a few days to confirm that he’s emotionally stable. Donghyuck is sure that isolation is an imposed strategy on him, because someone like Mark, someone who has the world and Donghyuck at his feet, wouldn’t be daunted by confrontation.

It’s Donghyuck who is scared of that moment. It’s Donghyuck who wants him back, and at the same time, doesn’t want him at all. It’s the two sides of the same wish, the breach between loving Mark and not being able to love him because their universes will be separated sooner or later. Because they’ve always been too far apart. Now Donghyuck has the certainty that they’re meant to crash into each other as many times as they part, but it will be always his fault for craving for Mark.

Mark’s return to his life is latent, and every night, as he and Jaemin close the tavern much later than usual and wait for the last tourists to leave, Donghyuck’s gaze inevitably floats to the entrance. His dread is sprinkled with hope, and since Jaemin always has an eye on him, those signs don’t go unnoticed under his radar. That’s the small secret they share. Donghyuck’s eagerness is desperation, and he’s unable to break that himself. It would be cruel of him to shatter Donghyuck in that moment of vulnerability, after he’s proven enough times that he can’t discuss his problems with Mark in detail. Jaemin always leaves earlier than him, either to indulge his hope or to let Donghyuck drown in the only moment of peace in his days.

He waits for Mark every night, twirling in anxiety, hoping and not hoping. Wishing and fearing. Part of him thinks that this is a lost battle; Mark took the first step once, the hardest step, and now it’s his turn to do the same. Mark had to collect the courage necessary for five years of silence, while Donghyuck needs courage for a few days.

When Jaemin leaves that night, the limits between consciousness and his exhaustion thin out. The difference between reality and a possible hallucination is so small that, as he unequivocally hears the bell of the tavern chime, the latter gains territory. Mark stands under the door frame, and perhaps Donghyuck is too tired, because right now Mark looks the healthiest since he arrived at Skopelos.

There’s color on his face, despite the uncertainty and the nervousness in which he’s drenched; there are youth and vigor instead of frailty, a shade of a man that Donghyuck knows a bit too well, and that makes his heart flip in his chest, spinning and speeding like on a rollercoaster.

That’s what only a few days without venom in his veins can do to Mark. What complete sobriety, after a breakdown or a thousand, has achieved. But when their gazes lock, Donghyuck realizes that this good news are also terrifying news: if Mark had power before, even while the load on his shoulders was squashing him against the ground, now a simple look has the same demolishing effect on Donghyuck. Mark is his drug in many ways, and everyone seems to approve of it.

Despite soaking in Donghyuck’s features, Mark doesn’t notice that behind the bar, he’s breathless and speechless, too stunned to kick him out or to welcome him. That’s never been a problem. Mark welcomes himself, hands in his pockets, weaving in and out of the tables and sizing Donghyuck up as he draws closer.

“You look terrible,” is his only sentence, an observation without malice or hidden intentions. In his net of lies and secrets, sometimes the simplest truths are the hardest to hear, and that’s how Donghyuck’s space becomes smaller tonight. Mark slants over the counter, elbows on the surface, and excuses his words with a dry, “Jaemin told me you’re overworking.”

Deep inside, Donghyuck dedicates him a couple of insults. The news isn’t odd: his friends have always talked about him behind his back. In this case it could be because Mark asked, even, because he expected Donghyuck to care about him, and there’s nothing more persuading than concern to tug secrets out of Jaemin.

Pretending to clean the edge of the bar, Donghyuck glowers at him and says, “You’re lovely, aren’t you?”

The corner of Mark’s mouth curls up for a second. Against that resentment that remains as deep prints in them, he always likes a good fight. Donghyuck could have refused to engage at all, and Mark wouldn’t have had the right to hold a grudge.

But Mark’s words are true regardless – a concept that slips in and out of his hands depending on his sobriety. That sobriety brings all that roughness Donghyuck has occasionally experienced in the last months, sweetness gone, and watching the sharpest version of Mark reminds him that in the end, Donghyuck thinks too much about himself. Mark has gifted him as much truth as he was able to give; tricky, sweet gifts. He couldn’t grant him more. The drugs appeased his personality, but also provoked spikes of frustration that were uncontrollable, and neither of those defined him.

The man resting on the bar, however, is bare and real, made of flesh and bone at last. No glory to adorn his pretty face or cover-ups to build that fantasy that tastes sour on Donghyuck’s tongue.

Mark dismisses his retort with a flick of his hand, dark eyes inspecting Donghyuck like he intends to strip him from all layers, and confesses, “I want to come back. Can I?”

That request is funny. Mark didn’t ask for permission the first time, and he knows that he can win and will win any and all battles against Donghyuck. Tonight, Donghyuck is determined to put up that fight anyway, no matter how draining it is. Yielding to Mark's needs all the time is exhausting, and when he glances up at the plea in his eyes, it’s evident that he’s at disadvantage. He’d surrender just to make that plea vanish.

Donghyuck parts his lips to sputter a negative, but not even a pinch of bluntness will change their ways – that's the reason his mouth becomes a tight line, sealed, as he defies Mark with his silence. Mark responds with an identical expression, a knee-jerk reaction of self-protection, and sends Donghyuck a once-over before reaching a conclusion. There's a touch of arrogance there, involuntary, always tagging along with his sobriety. Donghyuck doesn't think Mark is aware of it. It's a matter of adapting to his new language, to his new manners.

“Are you mad at me?” Mark breathes out in the end, though it doesn't seem to be a question. Not a question that needs an answer, at least.

Donghyuck has to lie. The warning was very clear: Mark will recoil into himself if he gets torched for his attempts at relapsing. That explanation made more sense days ago, as Donghyuck held him in his arms and cried with him; now that his pain seems a dull memory, only frustration and rancor remains. It's difficult not to be angry at him, or to not blame him for the words he said, for the decisions he took, and for asking for that space back in Donghyuck's tavern without apologizing first.

Dodging Mark's scrutiny, Donghyuck scrubs the counter harder and grunts, “No.”

Dishonesty shines too brightly. Mark fists his hand over the counter, and with his other hand, he twirls the rag out of Donghyuck’s grasp. Donghyuck can't help but let out a noise of surprise, startling at the strength of Mark's movements, but he doesn't take pity on him.

When Donghyuck raises his gaze, he's addressed with the most serious expression he's ever seen on Mark's face. He observes the veins on the back of his hand, the tension that spreads to the rest of his body, and drenches in that sensation. Mark's nervousness calms him down. It’s a relief. It's proof that Donghyuck isn’t overreacting, that he's not living in a horrible state of delusion that deforms his relationships with everyone.

“You're mad at me. I don't need you to lie,” Mark assures him, somber, ready for Donghyuck to contradict him. “You're not like them, okay? I know you can be mad at me and that doesn't mean you'll leave me. _God_ , Donghyuck, you've been mad at me for five years and you're still here with me.”

The blood swinging through his heart is warm, deafening, and so overwhelming that his surroundings smudge around him. Donghyuck is barely aware of his body, of what Mark can perceive and what he can’t. Tears prick his eyes, but he shuts them in time and lets out a shaky breath. Mark's hand tightens around his, and that’s not a trick that serves as a trap anymore. It’s Donghyuck's backbone. He holds onto Mark like it's his last chance to survive, an emotion that it's impossible to transmit with words, but that filters into Mark’s expression as he squeezes back.

“Of course I’m mad at you,” Donghyuck admits in a whisper that, against his wishes, fills every corner of the tavern. This confession is supposed to be freeing, a weight off his shoulders, but instead it's overwhelming. As soon as he gathers his thoughts, the vast amount of things he's been hiding hits him with full force, and there are so many, and at the same time so few of them, that words won’t ever be enough. “It’s so frustrating to see you like this. I accepted that you’re allowed to play with my feelings and I can't say a word, that it wasn’t your fault and that most of the time you were high and unaware of what you were saying or doing. I decided that wasn’t you, even though everyone told me you had changed, and _I_ could see that you had changed.” Donghyuck holds back, just an instant, not to detour into the ugliest corner of his head. “And that was still fine, Mark. I could understand you, though I couldn’t explain it. But the other day I realized, when you lied to me, that I don’t know if you’re lying to me the rest of the time.”

It's too much, too much all at once for both of them. Donghyuck sinks his teeth in his lower lip so hard that the pain is numb, and waits for his heart to slow down. Ordering his thoughts amidst the chaos of his feelings is impossible, but once he's started speaking, he can’t lock the box.

“I thought you were _okay_ that night in Thessaloniki and then you turned around and betrayed my trust,” Donghyuck continues, but he doesn't dare to look at Mark's face. Mark wanted the truth. After all, he's right: Donghyuck could confess every nasty feeling that resides in his soul and none of that could prevent him from chasing after Mark, again and again. “Did you think, for a moment, about how I would feel, or did you spend the whole night thinking about how to get away from me? Didn’t you realize I was going to feel responsible for whatever you did and for whatever happened to you? And in the room-”

Mark yanks his hand back, breaking contact, and Donghyuck's tongue entangles inside his mouth out of fear. He doesn't have the chance to read Mark's emotions, because when he lets go, Mark strides around the counter to erase the only barrier between them.

Donghyuck has to make a great effort not to step back and away from Mark. After so many days apart, the memory of hugging him to sleep and the familiarity of his body are long forgotten. For a brief moment, Donghyuck's mind considers him a threat.

But then Mark holds his face between his hands, his fingertips so kind that it feels like they’re hovering over his skin, and Donghyuck is shaken into a stability that seconds ago seemed unattainable.

“Look at me,” Mark orders him. And when Mark points that out, Donghyuck realizes he had closed his eyes; somehow, even with his eyes closed, the world is transparent if Mark is with him. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry, Donghyuck, and I know being sorry won't fix it, but I'm trying.”

His focus remains fixed on Donghyuck's pupils, searching for recognition, for approval, but Donghyuck is too stunned to console him. An apology is all he's wanted, all he thought he needed, but now it’s evident that it won’t change anything.

They key is elsewhere, in Mark’s trembling lips and the jittery emotions behind his words. “I am what you saw that night, but I’m also _this_. I’m not lying to you.”

That could be a lie too, but Donghyuck yearns for that tender escape. He believes him. This whole stunt is false: they're trying to fix a relationship that is bound to evaporate over time, that will never be what it’s supposed to be, but it’s easier to turn a blind eye.

“I know,” Donghyuck replies, a bitter smile squirming on his lips. “You wouldn’t stay even if I gave you the whole world.”

Mark's semblance contorts into confusion, and then swifts into shock. The slap of reality is merciless. Unsaid words that were meant to remain that way, but that Donghyuck needs to set that on table. He needs to have the certainty that there's no chance for him to retain Mark here. A heartbreak in time is a good enemy for his hope.

“That’s not fair,” Mark muses, almost to himself. The reproach and the pain in his voice, however, are directed to Donghyuck.

“It’s not?” Donghyuck repeats after him, incredulous. It’s almost an offense that Mark has the guts to talk about fairness – not after their trip. Life is unfair, and Donghyuck doesn’t deserve to carry all the responsibility, so he pushes Mark’s hands away from his face and insists, “Am I wrong?”

Mark clenches his fists at both sides, frustration concentrated there rather than in his gaze. It’s a useless façade, but his habits are so ingrained in him that he must not be aware of them.

“You’ve always acted like I left you behind on purpose, like I don’t want to be with you,” Mark retorts, not letting Donghyuck tear his apology down. There’s not only one side in their story, Donghyuck knows that. They’ve written their particular narrative over the years, and though they’ve found a meeting point despite all their problems, their stories haven’t converged. “I was leaving this life behind for a dream, and that dream was going to feed my family for the rest of our lives.” Mark shakes his head just a few inches, lost in his head. There’s disappointment and confusion in his face as he stares into Donghyuck’s eyes and continues, “I wanted to be with you, but not here. Would you want to live that way, Donghyuck? If I tell you right now that I’ll stay in Skopelos and renounce my career if you just ask again, will you be happy?”

The floor dips under Donghyuck’s feet. He grasps the edge of the bar, certain that he’s about to pass out, certain that his body will collapse on him if he just inhales again. Mark would never renounce his career for him, yet his words are unmistakable. The offer is right there, and Donghyuck simply has to snatch it before it fades away, before Mark regrets it.

Fear freezes him. Birds aren’t meant to live in cages, but this little bird is handing him the cage and the key. Temptation inches closer, threatening, and Donghyuck is neither brave nor strong enough to move in one direction.

“Come on, say it,” Mark insists, furrowing his nose in irritation. It’s not defiance or a test: for some reason, Mark is disposed to hear and follow his choices. It’s a terrifying first time, and though he wants to have Mark here forever, that requires a responsibility that Donghyuck doesn’t owe to anyone. Upon noticing his vacillation, Mark sighs a tired, “Because I’ll do it.”

Donghyuck wouldn’t be happy. His personal dream includes Mark’s will – he wants him to stay only if that’s what Mark wishes for himself too. His determination falters, melting into realization. Donghyuck has always breathed through that crack that allowed him to believe that Mark was just desperate for a better life, and once he achieved that, there wouldn’t be any inconvenience for him to come back home.

Mark will escape Skopelos, just like five years ago, and it’s a cycle that Donghyuck can’t halt.

Unable to bear Mark’s gaze, Donghyuck looks to the side, to the row of bottles glinting under the dim light of the tavern. Mark traces his jaw with his index finger, hard enough to turn his head towards him again. There’s no tolerance for his cowardice. Mark looks disappointed by his silence, perhaps because he wants Donghyuck to argue even when he’s wrong.

“If I couldn't stay, and you couldn't leave, why am I the bad guy?”

Because loving him, after he left, was too painful. Because Donghyuck couldn’t understand why love hurt that much, if love was wired to bring him happiness. Because he had Mark and then he didn’t, and there wasn’t anything crueler Mark could have done to him.

Donghyuck presses his lips together, mouth wobbling with the first cry, and manages to admit, “You’re not.”

Mark scowls at that, disoriented either by Donghyuck’s pain or by his lie.

“So you just want a reason to hate me, to not miss me when I’m gone?” he concludes, just a theory that turns out to be real. That trick, however, has never been effective to subdue his longing. Donghyuck missed Mark every day, and that vomit-inducing nostalgia was torture. “You can’t hate me for how pathetic I am now but you can paint me as the villain that never cared about you.”

Donghyuck feels his alarms ringing through his body. It’s not proper for Mark to degrade himself; he’s honest when it comes to the nuances of his drug addiction, but this isn’t the same. It’s propelled by Donghyuck’s attitude, by the lack of comfort. Renjun warned him that Mark needed support, and even if lies aren’t a necessary part of that connection, Donghyuck’s coldness is wearing him off.

It’s wearing Donghyuck himself off, too.

“Don’t say that,” Donghyuck pleads, clutching the front of Mark’s shirt to tug him out of that path. Mark seems to swing on his heels, thrown off at the contact, and glances at Donghyuck’s hard expression with surprise. “I don’t hate you, but I’m still hurt, and I just can’t make that disappear.”

That explanation fits in Mark’s puzzle, because he nods in acceptance. Maybe it’s the devilish voice in his head whispering that he’s not worthy of forgiveness. Maybe he isn’t. But Donghyuck will always forgive him.

“Donghyuck,” Mark calls him, tasting his name. It’s a whisper that runs through Donghyuck’s system, so velvety that it stirs something within him; it feels obscene, even, because his voice shouldn’t make him feel loved now. But it’s hard not to feel loved, adored, as the spark of Mark’s eyes embraces him. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I tried to manipulate you and took advantage of your trust and I’m sorry I can’t love you like I want and like you deserve.”

The growl that vibrates in Donghyuck’s chest is mute, one of those enormous creatures whose noises become white noise and take no form. His most egoistic side yearns to know how Mark would love him if he could, how he thinks Donghyuck deserves to be loved, but those fantasies are detrimental.

“But it's not only on me,” Mark continues. The spark of his eyes isn’t such a thing anymore: the apology is over, and Donghyuck braces himself for his next words. “You're asking me to make sacrifices I can't make, and I never asked you to do that for me. I understood you _couldn't_.”

Donghyuck lowers his head, pain bursting in his chest and his throat, standing over the dry ground of their relationship. For him, Mark has always been selfish for leaving. But Donghyuck was equally selfish: for not wanting to give him freedom, for not understanding that asking him to stay was unfair, for only caring about the life he wanted for both of them, and not the life Mark wanted for them.

Mark’s excuse is the same excuse Donghyuck holds against him: following the other and renouncing their personal dreams is a sacrifice. If Donghyuck isn’t disposed to submit, then he shouldn’t blame Mark for it either.

“I’m not going to ask anymore,” Donghyuck mutters, surrender in every inch of his body. His fingers remain stuck to Mark’s shirt, and only because of that Donghyuck notices that Mark has stopped breathing, that he didn’t expect him to give up. He made it so hard for Mark that his surrender must be unbelievable, but Donghyuck isn’t the kid he used to be, and life has taught him that that sinking his nails into what he wants, repels it in the end. “It never helped.”

Their gazes lock in a long, silent beginning, and the night pulses around them.

Just like Donghyuck is learning to rediscover Mark, he must be an undecipherable riddle for Mark. A man that doesn’t fight illogically anymore, a man that knows how to take care of him, against all suppositions, and a man that opts for silence when words aren’t enough. There are many steps Donghyuck isn’t capable of taking, but since Mark slid back into his life, he’s forcefully growing. He’s not a kid dragging Mark into their secret places to kiss and dreaming about a life together. He’s a careful man linking their relationship thread by thread, sure that he still loves Mark, but uncertain that his feelings will have any weight in the long run.

“Maybe it’s my turn to ask,” Mark concludes, and even though Donghyuck doesn’t understand him, his unasked questions are the fuel that keeps him alive.

Donghyuck sleeps alone for the rest of the week, but Mark silently returns to the tavern, the lines of permission blurred.

With the increasing influx of tourists, Mark's help comes in handy, but his presence brings unexpected problems. Donghyuck has to arrange and switch their roles a few times and free him around the tables, since some customers stay perched on the bar just for the chance to peek into the kitchen when the doors open. Allowing Mark to serve the tables makes a difference: people buy more drinks, more food, sometimes not finishing one quarter of it because it’s, to Donghyuck's amusement, an excuse to attract Mark to their tables.

Mark knows that. He's used to the attention, to the veneration, but he never shows the slightest sign of awareness. Ignorance seems to insufflate confidence in those around him, even though the loving stares and the nervous laughter are a dead giveaway; acting, Donghyuck realizes, is necessary for Mark in all parts of his life.

In that sense, he appreciates the painful truth. Mark's vulnerability is a gift that not everyone can witness, and that gift isn't only about how much Donghyuck can deal with: it's about how much Mark trusts him. It's about dropping his acting when they're together, a privilege that for months, he couldn't afford with Jaemin and Jeno. Donghyuck doesn't understand why Mark decided that unlike their friends, he had to experience the darkest, most honest side of him, but it might have been for his own comfort. If Mark wanted to begin from scratch with him, Donghyuck needed to cope with whoever he had become, and overall, Mark needed to be loved as he was, not as Donghyuck wished him to be.

But in those days Donghyuck glances at Mark across the tavern, a boy with a rehearsed smile on his face and the charming gait of Hollywood in his heels, he's sure he'd have loved Mark in any way, in any form, and despite any lie. He'd have seen beyond the façade, or would have scratched it until he bled under his nails.

That exposure and his sobriety, however, change the game for them. Being trapped within the four walls of the kitchen implied that Mark never knew what was happening in the tavern. But now, as he unleashes his charms and uses them on people, his focus sharpens. Not every customer knows him. Not every customer is interested in him, and if managing a tavern for most of his life prepared Donghyuck for something, it's that he’s exactly some people’s ideal type.

The famous, star-lighted boy isn't the jewel in the crown for some men. Maybe because it's easy to assume Mark wouldn't risk his career for a one-night stand, or because a man that has become the romantic fantasy of many women wouldn't have interest in other men.

Or maybe it's because for the Swiss man ogling him behind the bar, Donghyuck is much more interesting. Rough English, a rough attitude, and forged metal in his gaze.

Donghyuck doesn’t spare him any importance, but once the young man starts prying into his life – into his tavern, into his status, into the things that make him laugh and the things that trace a blush over his cheeks – Donghyuck is more nervous than he used to be in this sort of situation. He glances at Mark in worry while he works, and though Donghyuck accepted long ago that flirting comes with the job, it’s hard to conceal the man’s advances. If Mark wasn't in the picture, and during all those years that he wasn't here, Donghyuck enjoyed the attention. It was fun, a ripple in the routine that could lead to entertaining nights. The mischievous looks and the thrill of discovery, the hints that no straight man would recognize, and smiles that last a heartbeat longer than they should are entangled in that net of excitement. But none of that compares to a mere brush of Mark’s fingers or to his ephemeral smiles; any man is boring and gray in comparison.

It's a matter of time that Mark realizes, but Donghyuck doesn't expect him to react. Across the tavern he catches Donghyuck’s hefty looks, and when he has the chance to return to the bar, he sticks around to listen to their conversation.

Donghyuck doesn’t expect him to butt in, but as the noise of the chatter swallows his words and Mark pushes him away with a movement of his hips, all he can do is repress his surprise. Mark’s kindness is impeccable, professional, but the edge in his tone isn’t. The man simply lifts an eyebrow at him, entertained rather than annoyed, and then his gaze drifts to Donghyuck for a confirmation.

Donghyuck pointedly dodges the exchange, but he hauls Mark's sleeve behind the counter as a warning. A display of jealousy, even of this caliber, will put him in danger. Rumors grow their own legs if one feeds them enough, and once they’re running, they’re unstoppable.

The frustration ignited in Mark’s face tells Donghyuck that, in this instant, he doesn't remember that, that he's trapped in an impulse – an impulse capable of cracking his minutely crafted performance.

Donghyuck doesn't intervene. It's too dangerous, too obvious, so he retreats and pretends to slip into the kitchen for a new order. When he sets foot back into the tavern, the man has returned to the table with his friends, but Mark is hanging onto the edge of the counter, knuckles pale and shoulders tense.

“Relax,” Donghyuck whispers, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He stands next to him, though, close enough for Mark to hear his voice, but far enough for people to assume that they're minding their business. With all those eyes on them, Donghyuck doesn't want people to perceive Mark's blatant discomfort. Right now, his distress is buried under a layer of artificial ornaments, buried behind the bar, and Donghyuck needs it to stay that way. “He's a customer.”

“And you're working,” Mark retorts between his teeth, jaw clenched. His response is immediate, prepared, as though he predicted Donghyuck would come up with an excuse. Or because deep inside, he's conscious that this outburst of jealousy is unjustified, that he's acting like a teen, throwing a tantrum. “He shouldn't flirt with you while you work, and in front of everyone.”

Mark is right, and still, it sounds ridiculous in his lips. Donghyuck has grown up in this tavern, and Mark has watched both his family and him develop their business, so it's undeniable that subtle flirting, more often than not, is normal for them. Donghyuck absorbed his mom's flirting tricks very early in the game – his dad was gone too soon, but according to his mom, he was terrible at flirting, at socializing even. Back then, Donghyuck could only play those tricks on his friends, on Jeno and Jaemin, always so mischievous that they couldn’t help but love them. On the other hand, Mark simply listened to him with red patches across his face and a timid smile.

Mark missed the years when Donghyuck could unfurl his flirting on his customers, missed the boys that came after him.

Donghyuck can't repress the crooked smirk that blooms on his lips when he asks, “Don't you flirt all the time?”

The accusation makes Mark flinch, but it's satisfying to demolish that entitlement with one mere question. Mark can’t deny that. It’s part of his world, of his fame, and he’s discovered that skill is a good extension to talk to their customers. Unlike him, Donghyuck has adapted to it. Feeling jealousy over mindless, superficial flirting would be nonsensical, though Donghyuck knows that there’s a limit that could trigger it.

“It's different,” Mark groans, but he doesn’t sound so uptight anymore. Under Donghyuck's supervision, he ducks under the counter to pull one of the boxes and uses it as a distraction not to face him. Donghyuck basks in his slight embarrassment, in those traces of shyness interlaced with irritation, but Mark's explanation doesn't halt there. “They flirt with me for a shot of adrenaline, to fantasize, but they know that they can't go beyond that.”

Donghyuck ruminates over that, trying not to laugh and dismiss Mark's defense. There's a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he pulls the bottles out of the box and places them on the shelves behind them, and Donghyuck observes him through his biased lenses. It's difficult to believe that Mark feels that tug of protectiveness over him, but his frustration shows otherwise.

Donghyuck doesn’t need to be protected, not from other people, not in Skopelos.

Smiling to himself, Donghyuck taps Mark on the hip, a soft touch to bring him back to him. Distress thunders through Mark's face for a second, because they never touch in public, because they're not supposed to, and his pupils tremble and shift to the web of tables beyond the counter. Donghyuck has no idea if someone is monitoring them, but a simple gesture of closeness won't expose their secrets. It's just Mark's paranoia, thoughts that he suffers under his sobriety, and a sign that his brain is awake and in contact with the world around him.

When Mark blinks at him, Donghyuck dedicates him a sour smirk and whispers, “So you're unattainable, but I'm not?”

Even though not a single word escapes his mouth, Donghyuck perceives the inner fight Mark runs through: the first reaction is contradicting Donghyuck's words, but in a split second Mark calms down and understands the hidden message in his expression.

That's how the universe sees them. Donghyuck is a normal town boy, lonely and attached to an island that won't gift him happiness anymore, while Mark is untouchable, surrounded by mystery and glory and the matter dreams are made of. For Donghyuck, their chapters hold a different story. For him, Mark is just another lonely boy captive in a crossfire he created. The only unattainable thing about him is their future together, and that makes Donghyuck just as unreachable.

“Are you?” Mark shoots in the end, not backing off. He tilts his head towards the table where the man sits, but his attention glosses over him, like he's just a speck of dust, a fly on the wall. Maybe he is, for someone like Mark, and Donghyuck doesn't find any reason why he shouldn't be as unimportant as the stranger in the tavern. “He's handsome. If I wasn't here, wouldn't you go with him?”

It's a tricky question. Mark knows the answer – knows that Donghyuck isn't a pure angel that hasn’t touched another man in his entire life. No matter how much he could have changed during the past years, Mark was too familiarized with his personality, and Donghyuck had never been demure and modest. With only his mom around to control him and Jeno and Jaemin's influence, it had been easy for him to explore his feelings, his sexuality, his options. Mark had always been a step behind them.

“Maybe I would,” Donghyuck admits. It's not a categorical yes, even if he's sure that under different circumstances, that man would end up in his bed tonight. Mark is better off without knowing that. “But you're here, and there's no point in thinking about that.”

Donghyuck spins on his heels right in time to attend the woman walking up to the bar, stealing Mark's chance to put up a fight. His curiosity floods, though, but that streak of curiosity will bring him only pain and insecurity.

The woman’s eyes glaze over Mark with interest, but she's not impolite enough to disregard Donghyuck's attention. Mark takes that moment of freedom to retreat into the kitchen, and Donghyuck doesn't bother to call him back as he pours a couple of beers for the woman.

He feels a hand on his back a few seconds later, but it's Jaemin, his eyebrows knitted together and his apron nowhere to be seen. After so many months with Mark around, Donghyuck needs a moment to collect his logic and his composure. His muscle memory reminds him that when Mark disappeared and one of them had to take over, it was because he was having withdrawals. Mark's trouble lies elsewhere now, but Donghyuck still feels that nerve-wracking spot of anxiety expanding through his stomach.

“What did you do now?” Jaemin questions him, expression painted with skepticism. At Donghyuck's perplexity, he scoffs and prompts him to enter the kitchen. “Get in there, loser.”

Donghyuck doesn’t have time to let his imagination spike, but when he walks in and finds Mark calmly cooking, it’s a relief. Donghyuck’s expectations always tend to tilt into chaos, not into this quiet privacy, and he has to bite his tongue not to bomb Mark with questions. He shuffles next to him, curls a hand in his sleeve, and waits for Mark’s gaze to drift to him.

Resignation is the first and last emotion that reaches Donghyuck, and then Mark’s feelings fly out of his reach and he becomes a blank riddle for him again. Donghyuck prefers anger to this. The nuances of Mark’s resignation are too complicated for him, because Donghyuck isn’t used to submission, because it’s a feeling he doesn’t comprehend.

But the door is closed, they’re alone, and Donghyuck can afford asking, “What's going on?”

Mark’s heavy determination falls on him. “You haven't had sex in months,” he states, as a fact, as an observation, but also as a problem.

Donghyuck’s mouth opens in a mute protest, but the shock doesn’t allow him to utter a single word. Denying it would be absurd. He’s spent all this time attached to Mark, and when Mark had a bad day, when he couldn’t be around, Donghyuck was just working. His nights have eroded away either in solitude or with Jaemin and Mark, and he had no space inside his mind for anyone but his friends.

Mark’s resignation isn’t that simple. Everyone around him has forsaken part of their lives, dropping responsibilities and changing their plans to be by his side, but Donghyuck carries most of that load. Mark is in his house, his bed and his tavern. He’s in his dreams and in every second that ticks on the clock when he’s awake. He conditions his friendships and, of course, his opportunities to meet new people – to meet other men.

Still, Donghyuck doesn’t fathom Mark’s guilt. Maybe it’s because Donghyuck is more selfish than him, because he wouldn’t feel bad for drawing Mark close and away from other men, even if the somber voice inside his head gnaws at him and peels off that self-confidence.

“Are you insinuating that I should sleep with him?” Donghyuck hisses in a loud whisper, incredulous. White spots expand in his vision, the rise of anger tensing through his tendons, and he has to lean back on the edge of the stove not to lose balance. Mark’s hand twitches like he’s about to hold him, like he’s afraid Donghyuck will fall, but Donghyuck’s rowdy gaze keeps him in place. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I didn't say that,” Mark bites out. He scrunches his nose and groans, upset at himself, but the lack of solutions limits him. Donghyuck understands his intentions, and Mark is aware of that. The issue is that the proposal crosses an uncomfortable line – the line between his insecurities and assuming that Donghyuck would hurt him for his own benefit. “I just-”

“You don't want me to sleep with him because you'd be jealous, so why are you even bringing this up?” Donghyuck cuts him off. He crosses his arms over his chest to protect himself, though he doesn’t know from what, from who, and that defensiveness makes Mark lower his head. “You feel guilty because I'm waiting for you? Who said I'm waiting for you, Mark?”

Donghyuck regrets those words right away, as Mark’s puzzlement branches before him. Instead of a flower snapping up for a ray of sunlight, Mark looks like a withering plant melting under the heat. It doesn’t matter that Donghyuck’s feelings aren’t a secret: Mark holds the power in many aspects of their relationship, but the sexual aspect is out of his hands. If Donghyuck tells him that he’s not waiting for him, which both of them know is a lie, Mark will still believe him.

“Well, if it’s because of me-” Mark continues, stuttering. He closes his mouth, the edges of his jaw emerging, and he follows the script he has prepared even though it doesn’t make sense anymore. “Donghyuck, I want you to do whatever you want to do, okay? Not what _I_ want you to do. If you’re missing out on things because I’m here, or because you’re afraid it will affect my recovery, you’ll resent me later.”

Donghyuck inhales, his frustration disintegrating piece by piece. That’s what Mark is afraid of: not being worth the wait. Resentment shouldn’t scare him, as he’s already experienced that, and anger and rancor weren’t powerful enough to shoo Donghyuck away from him. It’s been his choice to bounce back, once and again.

It’s not realistic for Mark to think that he can smooth the trauma for both of them. He needs to accept that Donghyuck is choosing to stay, and the consequences of that are inevitable. This attempt at shoving him the other way betrays him. He’s terrified that, once he’s settled into Donghyuck’s comfort, the bumpy road will leave such a bitter taste in Donghyuck’s mouth that he won’t love him anymore.

And Mark might be right. Donghyuck can’t predict the future, but for now he has no intention to back out, and every horrible secret Mark shows him is just another reason to clutch him out of it with his hands.

That’s why Donghyuck raises his chin, basking in Mark’s hesitation, and defies him. “Don’t be a coward.”

“I’m not a coward,” is the immediate retort, but Mark swallows hard and loud one second later, like he didn’t mean to jump into that argument.

“Then stop telling me to look after myself,” Donghyuck concludes. It’s almost ironic that Mark deems him incapable of putting himself first. He’s been absent for five years, and Donghyuck survived without him. He doesn’t need Mark to set him on the right, healthy track; Jaemin and Jeno are better than him when it comes to that. “I’m looking after you, and if you’re so worried about me, then you should do the same with me.”

Mark’s anxiety deflates in record time, his eyelashes interlacing in the next blink, and then he gazes at Donghyuck again, and the intensity of his honey-like eyes taunts him. Consenting Mark, a man that has a whole team to keep him alive, to take care of him is an insane idea, but perhaps it’s the ideal route to normalcy. Mark needs more responsibilities beyond not becoming a mess, beyond not self-destroying.

When Mark shakes his head in denial, it doesn’t come off as a surprise for Donghyuck. Since he left Skopelos, he’s been led to believe that his life and career had to be managed by _qualified_ people, and regaining his independence in the asphyxiating isolation of Skopelos seems a chimera.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Mark whispers, but he doesn’t argue further, he doesn’t spit at him all the obvious reasons why that hope turns into Donghyuck a masochist or, simply, a brute.

Donghyuck bursts into a scoff, a noise that breaks the seriousness between them. All of sudden the life of the tavern slips into his ears again, and a spark of awareness lights up Mark’s face as well. They can’t hide in the kitchen forever and abandon Jaemin to his luck, so Donghyuck steps back, his hand twirling in Mark’s shirt.

“I’m not missing out on anyone or anything,” Donghyuck promises, so sharply that there’s no chance for Mark to doubt him. Mark’s eyebrows crease together, but Donghyuck isn’t disposed to let him think this is about compassion or pity. It’s the truth; if Donghyuck has missed out on anything, that’s maturing along with Mark. And it’s not too late to mend it, regardless of how far they’ve gone without each other. “And I have no rush. I’m not an animal, and if I want to wait for you, I will, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

Before turning on his heels, the last thing Donghyuck catches is the subtle, ephemeral smile on Mark’s lips. A gesture that this time isn’t dedicated to him: a smile as involuntary as healing, a smile that doesn’t belong to Donghyuck. It belongs to Mark, and that’s what they’ve been waiting for.

That same week, Jaemin embroils them into having dinner together. Reuniting the whole group has become a rarity, but given how accustomed they are to their schedules, Donghyuck isn’t conscious of it until Mark, Jaemin and Jeno rowdily invade his home. Summer brought them too much work, and with Mark and Renjun’s addition, both Jeno and Donghyuck need more private time than usual.

Tonight, Renjun isn’t there. Donghyuck isn’t sure if it’s an excuse, a strategy to let them have a night together like in the old times, but he opted out for business. The time difference keeps Renjun up some nights, and though Donghyuck would never admit it out loud, at this point it’s weird to gather without him. He doesn’t understand why Renjun has to work, not while Mark is trapped in Skopelos, but Hollywood’s engine escapes his knowledge.

Jeno’s cheerfulness dims out in his absence, and he mopes around until Mark pulls him into the couch with him. Donghyuck observes them with mirth, like they’re the two playful kids they used to be, but he doesn’t join their games. Mark lights up a cigarette while Jaemin prepares dinner for them, and the three of them bicker back and forth over how Mark shouldn’t smoke anymore. The show playing on the TV is a contest about culture, and Jaemin screams the answers from the kitchen, ignoring their fights and getting half of the answers wrong.

In that fleeting carelessness, Donghyuck is happy. He’s never needed a lot to be comfortable with his life, but the world attempted to take everyone out of his life. It made him believe that the mere wish of having Mark around was unfeasible, but now he’s smoking on his couch, laughing at Jeno’s protests and teasing him about Renjun, and it feels like Mark was always part of this painfully normal life.

“I don’t believe you,” Jaemin stubbornly states as he slides into the living room with the first plates. It’s obvious he’s been listening to Jeno and Mark’s conversation, to all the reasons Jeno gave him to claim that Renjun isn’t his _boyfriend_ and that they’re not hiding secrets from them. Jaemin’s eyebrows are arched with suspicion, and Donghyuck has to press his mouth against his knee not to laugh at his indignation. “All you do with Renjun is hold hands and stare at each other like fools?”

Donghyuck glances at Jeno, hoping to perceive the sign that Jeno understands how ridiculous that seems. At least for Jeno, who has always moved fast and has never been stuck on the same person for a long time, his whole fixation on Renjun is fascinating. And if Jeno was so serious about Renjun that he wanted to respect him, to not treat him like a fling, their speed would still be minuscule.

“That’s your problem,” Jeno assures him, prideful, but he extends his arms so that Jaemin hands him the food. Mark sneers at him, rearranging their positions so that Jeno can eat in peace. “Not mine.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve spent almost all of your time with Renjun for months,” Jaemin continues, unrelenting, and squeezes between Jeno and Donghyuck on the couch. “Night and day. And you haven’t even kissed him yet?”

Jeno scowls at him and points out, “Aren’t Donghyuck and Mark the same?”

The pull inside Donghyuck’s chest is instantaneous. Jeno doesn’t mean any harm: it’s a natural question, but it’s taboo for them. A giant wall that Mark and he have to climb to fall to the other side, and even if Donghyuck discusses it with them in private, he doesn’t know if Mark is ready to have all his issues aired out in group.

“You’re not actually making that comparison,” Donghyuck warns Jeno, lifting his index finger to silence him.

From the other end of the couch, Mark slants his head back and blows the smoke up, an unexplainable grin taking over his expression.

“Why shouldn't he?” he asks Donghyuck, throwing him a lazy look out of the corner of his eyes. Donghyuck waits one second, two, three, and then Mark whispers a malicious, “Am I a fragile little thing that can't have a normal relationship?”

Donghyuck strains his gaze away, the heat on his cheeks burning as Jaemin and Jeno cackle at Mark’s infallible attack.

Unable to contradict him, Donghyuck grunts an arid, “Shut your mouth.”

“I would never,” Mark retorts, but there’s laughter in his voice too, and Donghyuck sinks his face in his knees, embarrassed. “I love it when you’re mad at me.”

It’s bait for Donghyuck to take, but he doesn’t grant Mark that gratification. He hides his fluster and tries to control the butterflies in his guts, marveled at his own reaction, at the effect Mark’s teasing has on him.

“We were talking about Jeno,” Jaemin reminds them, and though it’s supposed to be a scolding, satisfaction drops through the cracks. He shifts on the couch, content, and dips forward to take his plate. “Stop flirting around us, it’s gross.”

Donghyuck doesn’t have to draw out his weapons, since Mark does the job for him. Flipping him off, Mark seals the joke and then drops his leg on Jaemin and Jeno’s laps, as if that will prevent them from annoying Donghyuck.

“Anyway.” Jeno sighs, shutting Mark’s upcoming attempt with just one look. “Renjun thought it was funny that I like taking it slow. I guess we don’t have the same sense of slowness.”

Any of them would vouch for that. For Jaemin and Donghyuck, Jeno’s antics have always been a whirlwind hard to catch up to. With that face and that body, and Jeno’s loving nature, it made sense that he attracted people in all senses. Donghyuck often accused him of having a bad case of falling in love too easily, but the truth is that he adores the light in his eyes when he talks about boys. Renjun is a unique phenomenon, a whim that has lasted for too long, and that spark within Jeno has grown to become a star that could illuminate a whole solar system.

Donghyuck feels the same way, like a star that has been fed with Mark’s fire, and he’s now counting the time left to explode.

“Did you fool him into thinking you’re a gentleman?” Jaemin asks, digging his elbow into Jeno’s side. “That seems difficult.”

The glower that crosses Jeno’s semblance is enough of a warning. “You’re not funny.”

Donghyuck discreetly pinches Jaemin’s thigh before he decides it’s a good idea to push Jeno’s buttons until he gets upset. That’s not necessary, however, because Mark takes the wheel of the conversation this time.

“He probably thinks that not fucking within the first week is slow,” he tells Jeno, and despite the crudity of his words, there’s no trace of jeer in his voice. His attention wanders from Jeno to the food, distracted, and then back to him, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. “Renjun talks a lot, but when it’s about himself, he says little.”

There might be a reason for that, though. Donghyuck understands why Renjun, after becoming Mark’s strongest rock, would forget about himself. It’s all about Mark, Mark and his career, Mark and his addiction, Mark and their responsibilities towards him. It explains that he’s forgotten how to weave his pace with Jeno. Skopelos confers him the chance to think about himself, to escape from Mark’s circle and lean into the freedom of Jeno’s arms.

“He never had the chance to take it slow,” Jeno muses, unsure. He caresses Mark’s leg, tugging at his shorts to cover his exposed thigh, and continues, “That’s what he said.”

Mark hums at that. “Yeah. Hollywood moves fast with everything.”

Silence stills around them, and Donghyuck meets Mark’s gaze by accident, a blank stare that vibrates through the remains of his shame. Even if Mark is perched on Jeno’s worry, he has an anchor on Donghyuck – they’ve attuned to each other, and it’s impossible to break the habit. Mark raises his eyebrows at him in a silent question, as though he can perceive the doubts brimming in his head, but Donghyuck doesn’t want to talk about the similarities between him and Renjun, not in front of their friends.

Renjun was raised in Hollywood; Mark wasn’t. He understands the pace of an island, and overall, despises it. The speed of their relationship has been set by his issues, not by Mark himself, and Donghyuck wonders if he has the urge of giving up. Donghyuck used to think that waiting killed the spark, that feelings had to be constantly incited, and he’s afraid Mark will discover that they can be friends and nothing else; that this limbo is enough for them.

It’s not enough for Donghyuck.

“Isn’t _this_ too slow?” Jeno timidly asks him, echoing Donghyuck’s thoughts with a tint of desperation that is misled towards Mark.

Though Mark isn’t the best adviser when it comes to relationships, he knows Renjun like the back of his hand. A quick once-over seems to give him all the information he needs: Jeno is latching onto his words for hope, for stability, and that’s a new development since he arrived at Skopelos. Donghyuck catches the momentary flash of confusion before it’s swallowed by sobriety, and he can’t help but feel proud of him, for him.

“He might not be able to tell,” Mark replies, head dropping to the side as he glances at Jeno. It’s a supposition, even though Renjun and he must have brought Jeno up at some point; Mark still lives in a bubble, and the maps in his head sometimes head to nowhere. That’s a lesson that has been carved in Donghyuck’s brain with a hot iron. “Try kissing him if you don’t want to wait anymore. If it’s too slow for you, for him it must feel like an eternity.”

Jeno takes a deep breath, fervently nodding as if to accept the challenge. Jaemin is already chirping answers to the show again, but he encircles Jeno’s shoulders for consolation, for encouragement, and Donghyuck dedicates him a knowing smile.

Perhaps Mark’s words are directed at him as well, or perhaps they aren’t. It doesn’t matter. Donghyuck doesn’t know if he’s allowed to plant even the most innocent of the kisses on his lips. And he wishes he was, he wishes he could pin Mark on the bed and cover him in kisses all night, just to delude himself into thinking they didn’t waste all their time together before he had to leave.

Every second apart feels disposable, and even now, only separated by their friends, Donghyuck itches to press against Mark. To sense the slow beating of his heart under his clothes and his erratic breathing, and believe, for another night, that he can have that forever.

Mark stays that night, but not the next, and not the following night. Donghyuck isn't spared the details, just a juggle of words about Soyou's recommendations and phone meetings with movie directors that consume his nights.

Even though Donghyuck only has to ask Renjun to be updated to the last detail, he decides to respect Mark's privacy. At first glance, Mark's recovery remains stable, and that's all that matters to him. Soyou's job isn't over after the purge of drugs, so her presence and the sudden appointments aren't a bad sign. That's the only consolation that keeps Donghyuck safe from panic. 

Mark's career is a different matter. As Mark said, Hollywood is faster than all of them, and that includes Mark’s rise and fall included. And he has been missing for too long. Receiving interest from the other side of the world is natural and optimistic, but it spreads the first dissonance in Donghyuck's comfort.

The second dissonance is Doyoung. Doyoung at his door, at the edge of dawn, unaccompanied, his silhouette outlined against the darkness of the ocean. Days and nights blur in Donghyuck’s calendar, only terror left as he recognizes the man in front of him and his knees shake under the weight of his fears. The worst possibility obscures his mind for a second, but logic yanks him back, because if Doyoung is still on the island, so is Mark. Because if Mark wasn’t well, it wouldn’t be Doyoung who would show up at his door.

He doubts anyone would.

Donghyuck feels the chill breeze from the sea slipping through the door. Despite the heat of the summer, nights are still cold, and he has to grasp his jacket to cover his abdomen, to conceal the shiver that trembles through him.

“What are you doing here?” Donghyuck asks him, voice still hoarse from sleep. He rubs his eyes, not interested in absorbing Doyoung’s reaction, and grunts, “It’s so early.”

It’s the exact time he wakes up to prepare for the tavern. For most islanders that work and live off the island, rising before the sun towers in the sky is an obligation, and Donghyuck isn’t different. There’s a special sort of silence at this time that Donghyuck loves, but today it’s broken by Doyoung’s visit and the heavy knock of his shoes against the ground.

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” Doyoung proposes, ignoring the subtle negative in Donghyuck’s words. If it was someone else, he would have already invited him in, and Doyoung is, somehow, aware that his house isn’t a place for strangers. That’s the reason he opts for pulling Donghyuck out, a tight yet comforting smile on his face. “I figured this was the only moment of the day you’re alone.”

Donghyuck doesn’t need to be told twice. The possibility of ditching Doyoung if their walk together turns sour is clear, and he won’t hesitate to take it, so he nods and slips into his shoes. Doyoung steps back to leave space for him, and Donghyuck sighs out loud before closing the door.

They stroll without direction, though Donghyuck chooses the path for them, eluding the houses so that no one overhears them. Doyoung’s elegant gait keeps up with his pace without trouble, but he stays silent until he deems it safe.

Doyoung isn’t looking at him when he says, “I thought Renjun told you I had a spot for you.”

“He did.”

The offer isn’t that old, but Donghyuck would swear that the suffering of his reconciliation with Mark stretched time. It feels like it happened years ago, or like he aged ten years in the span of a few weeks.

At his admission, Doyoung sends him an interested glance. “I’m not going to treat you like a patient, if that’s what you’re worried about. But you’re part of Mark’s recovery, you know that, right?”

Donghyuck can’t deny that he wondered if therapy would do him good, but it was a foreign field for him – something he saw in movies, that was taboo, that wasn’t aimed at _normal_ people like him.

“So are Jaemin and Jeno,” Donghyuck retorts, but that excuse is empty, useless, and even ridiculous.

That resistance doesn’t erode Doyoung’s patience. Maybe it’s not patience. If he’s been treating Mark for so long, he must be an expert at dealing with stubbornness and lack of cooperation. Donghyuck isn’t a problem for him, not even an annoyance; Mark’s issues are much more complex, rarer, while Donghyuck has suffered through pieces of life that everyone experiences sooner or later.

Donghyuck’s not a complicated person, after all. It shouldn’t be hard for Doyoung to see his intentions, even if he’s not his patient, even if that’s not Doyoung’s aim.

“They are, of course, but not in the same way.” Doyoung observes him, a long pause that allows Donghyuck to soak in his nonsense. It’s futile for him to point out that unlike his friends, Donghyuck is vital in Mark’s recovery. He’s boring a tunnel into his story, or maybe he’s always been there, waiting to hold Mark as soon as he needs it. And Doyoung seems to know that, an encouraging, comforting smile in his face as he asks, “Has Mark ever told you about his sex addiction recovery?”

Donghyuck expects that question, but it’s been a long time since he had to discuss that, and he unknowingly winces at Doyoung’s words. He’s trained himself not to show negative emotions in front of Mark and, though it’s a pattern in his behavior now, Mark isn’t here. Doyoung isn’t his friend, he doesn’t make him feel safe, but Donghyuck doesn’t have to control his emotions around him.

But Donghyuck’s first impulse is retorting, “I don’t know what that has to do with-”

“Donghyuck,” Doyoung interrupts him, shaking his head, a slight movement that freezes Donghyuck whole. Doyoung doesn’t intend to scold him, but the determination in his voice subdues the urge of disobeying him. “This is complicated for you, that’s clear, but it’s better to discuss it now than when it’s too late.”

Donghyuck halts, forcing his stare to lose itself among the gray clouds, and Doyoung imitates him. It shouldn’t be a gray day, but it’s going to be. In many ways, that’s a relief for Donghyuck, who’s grown accustomed to them, who feels deluded and tricked when the world around him shines bright and colorful.

“When it’s too late?” he repeats after Doyoung, not understanding. He’s put all his effort into drawing the limits between Mark and him, despite his desperation to smash them into pieces and breathe through Mark’s mouth, through the pores of his body and the ashes in his eyes. “Mark and I haven’t done anything. Renjun warned me about it when you all arrived, and I _care_ about him. I wouldn’t do anything that could hurt him.”

Doyoung’s surprise is palpable even under the layer of professionalism, and it takes Donghyuck a second to realize that he’s never shared all that out loud. It’s implicit in his behavior and in his choices, but putting it into words is like insufflating life into the inert matter.

“I don’t want to talk about you’ve done or haven’t,” Doyoung clarifies. Donghyuck feels his face fall, mistrust ringing among his thoughts – it’s Doyoung’s job to know every step that Mark takes, and Donghyuck supposes that Doyoung is uninterested only because he’s certain they didn’t move forward. “That’s not important. It’s inevitable. I just want to make sure that when it happens, it happens the right way.”

Donghyuck parts and closes his lips several times until he manages to echo, “There’s a right way.”

He didn’t dare to pry into Mark’s sex addiction. Given their relationship, he was afraid of being a trigger, of coming off as pressuring. His concern could have been easily misinterpreted by Mark. Besides, his experiences were frail, rough on him, and Donghyuck didn’t feel like he had the right to delve into more reasons, more justifications.

That attitude has drowned him in ignorance, in guidelines and rules that he didn’t question. Not until now.

“Sex addictions are complex,” Doyoung continues, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Drugs are something you can drop and when you do, they stop being part of your life. They’ll be around Mark’s life, at parties, at meetings, but if he’s strong enough, they won’t be _in_ his life.” He pauses, evaluating Donghyuck’s expression, and Donghyuck returns a solid look, prompting him further. “But sooner or later, he’ll sleep with someone. I’m guessing that someone is going to be you, or at least I’d say that’s what he wants. I can’t speak for him, though, and less for you.”

There are thorns in his head that pierce deeper at the outburst of hope that Doyoung is provoking in him. Donghyuck flinches away, unable to maintain eye contact, and exhales all his air in one blow. It’s hard to imagine intimacy with Mark, it’s overwhelming, even if Donghyuck doesn’t wish to live in this middle ground forever.

For him, sometimes a kiss seems like a whole universe, and he can’t imagine anything beyond that.

“Regaining the sense of intimacy is the key for his recovery,” Doyoung tells him. Those words fill complicated spaces within Donghyuck, and he doesn’t understand what they mean, but at the same time, he does. The way Mark’s hands linger on his body at night reveals more than any diagnostic, than any recovery program. Doyoung arches an eyebrow at him, intrigued by his silence, before saying, “Abstinence was the only way to correct certain behaviors and protect him, but now that his behavior has been completely capped, he’s free to explore that intimacy again.”

It’s a green light. The cue for Donghyuck to let Mark go further, to drive himself into the madness of Mark’s private corners and his carefully elaborated fantasies. All of it, from this permission to the initial ban, is surreal. And still Donghyuck craves for it like he’d crave for water in a scorching day of summer; a breath of peace, a kiss that could cure all the venomous ideas that have tainted his feelings.

But Donghyuck isn’t used to this control, and as he assimilates that they’re now free to explore all they couldn’t explore when they were fifteen, the lack of freedom Mark has been under becomes horribly evident. That’s why Donghyuck must be responsible for both of them: because Mark might not be able to lead himself anywhere, like a lost tiger in the middle of a big city that has lost the ability to live anywhere except its cage.

“Our relationship isn’t an experiment or treatment.”

Doyoung settles a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his peace, and assures him, “That’s not what I’m saying, Donghyuck. But you need to know that if something happens between you two, he has to stay behind the line. It can’t be frenetic, or crazy, or meaningless.”

Nothing with Mark could be meaningless, is what he wishes to say, but no one except Mark deserves to hear that. He scoffs into the air, the condensation of the cold air crafting a cloud in front of him.

Life would be easier if Mark’s kisses could be meaningless, if Donghyuck could have just tossed their memories away.

Doyoung’s big, attentive eyes settle on him, analyzing his reaction, but Donghyuck shakes off all his personal problems and whispers, “How am I supposed to know if it means anything to him?”

Perhaps it’s an unnecessary question. He knows, matter-of-factly, that Jaemin would reprimand him for diminishing himself. Donghyuck is the only one who doubts Mark’s feelings, and no one else does. It’s Donghyuck who creates all those narratives in which Mark doesn’t love him, while Mark tries to be better, for himself, for his friends and for Donghyuck. It would be different if Dongyuck wasn’t part of his life. They know that. Donghyuck is the frontier between throwing his whole life away and considering that there’s more to it than suffering, that it might be worth it.

“You’ll know,” Doyoung retorts, and then he laughs a little, a glint of incredulity in his gaze. And as his demeanor soothes, an emotion akin to empathy surging, Donghyuck realizes that he’s resorted to Donghyuck beyond his job duties. He’s here as someone that cares about Mark too, as someone that has spoken to him outside his sessions, and as someone who can tell that Donghyuck wouldn’t run away now, or ever. Doyoung’s voice is just a whisper when he sentences, “Rumor has it you know him the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/renjucas)   
>  [Curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/berryboys)   
> 


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